If It Were Any Simpler, It Would Be Impossible
by MochaButterfly
Summary: DISCONTINUED due to Book Six: Ginny’s been sent undercover to retrieve Draco from Spain. But just who is deceiving who?
1. Hit Witch in Training

**Summary: **Ginny's been sent undercover to retrieve Draco from Spain. But just who is deceiving who? With help from the most unlikely duo – an American stripper and an impetuous Irishwoman – Ginny slowly unravels the thread of lies while steadily proceeding to fall hard for Draco.

**Spoilers:** OotP a bit.

**A/N**: Well, all, I'm back! It's been over a half a year, but here I am with a bright, shiny new fic for you. I've got the basic plot outlined, but so far I'm still writing chapter two − I had wanted to write the entire thing before I posted, but I ignored my wiser voices and went ahead to post it. 

This fic is, as always, a D/G romance. The two are out of Hogwarts, Ginny is 21, Draco is 22. I'm pretending that Ginny's birthday is in January or February. The main setting is in Madrid, Spain. I've added quite a few new characters, but there are some of JKR's as well. Which brings me to the

**Disclaimer:** Just about everyone in this chapter besides Creedmoore, Anid, and Jocelyn belong to JKR. Any magic you recognize is probably hers as well. 

**If It Were Any Simpler, It Would Be Impossible**

**By: MochaButterfly**

**Chapter One**

**_Hit Witch in Training_**

_Tuesday, 4 March, 2003___

Three black-clad figures were spread out on an immaculate white leather sofa. The trio had the appearance of the very wealthy; their clothes hung perfectly, their hair was styled, and their faces held the constant expression of arrogance and confidence. They contrasted with each other, and yet they seemed exactly in place together. The mood in the air was that of ease, proving these three knew, trusted, and respected one another. 

The female, a petite woman with magic-perfect brown glossy curls spilling faultlessly on her shoulders, had her short, shapely legs on the lap of a pale haired male, seemingly oblivious to the fact she wore a skirt. She was lying on her back, her head propped up by the arm of the couch. The third, a darkly complexioned male with short black hair and blacker eyes, sat on the opposite side of the other man, slouched into the corner of the sofa with his legs sprawled out in front of him.

"This is one of your nicer places, Draco," said Pansy Parkinson, glancing around the room and then meeting the blonde's eyes. "For a man, you managed to pick something with style."

Draco Malfoy shot her a lazy grin. "My most recent . . . _companion . . . was an interior decorator. She forced me to buy here."_

"I can see your knickers, Pansy," drawled Blaise Zabini from his corner, looking bored. 

Pansy, who thought her knee-length skirt was quite long enough to cover what needed to be covered, smiled unconcernedly at him. "Nothing you haven't seen before, Blaise," she answered smoothly. However, she crossed her legs at the ankles.

There was a comfortable silence as the three of them mused separate subjects. Draco's mind was on his apartment, and how long he would be living in it. Pansy was right – the place _was_ rather attractive, and in the two days he'd been living there he'd grown quite fond of it. It had come completely furnished, and as it was also in a prime neighborhood in Madrid, it had cost a hefty sum. The price hadn't been a great deal of importance to Draco − money had never been a problem. Ever since his father had been sent to Azkaban and his mother had gotten remarried, Draco had been in charge of the Malfoy fortune. 

But Draco knew the Ministry of Magic was after him. In the past year he'd moved to eleven different countries, barely staying in one place more than a month. It was only a matter of time before the Ministry caught up with him in Spain and he had to leave again. He hated it. He cherished stability and continuity in life, and jumping to a new country once a month disrupted his wanted lifestyle.

And the worst part of it was, he'd had to live as a Muggle for the past year. By blending in with Muggles and changing his name, Draco was able to loose the Ministry − at least for a few weeks at a time. But now he was even forbidden to use any sort of magic. Pansy had pointed out, cleverly, that the Ministry had probably sensed magic coming from a Muggle dwelling and had investigated the matter. _"That's how they keep finding you," Pansy had said calmly, as Draco had fumed at the very thought of not using his wand. _"Don't use magic, and avoid magical places. That's the only way you'll keep yourself from being Avada Kedrava'd by an Auror."__

"Only a month and a half," muttered Draco bitterly, "and I'll be able to use magic again."

"Poor Draco," Pansy cooed with a mocking pout. "It's not our fault you're on the run from the Ministry."

"It's bloody annoying, that's what it is," snarled Blaise, throwing a dark look at Draco. "The Plan could've already been set in action − we could've already _done it − if only we didn't have to sneak around as to avoid being seen with you."_

Draco only smirked. The Plan. That's what he liked to call it, since it didn't have a name. For the past six months, the three of them had been devising an ingenious plan to free the Death Eaters of Azkaban. 

During Draco's seventh year at Hogwarts, Lord Voldemort had exploded half the prison, killing off prisoners that weren't loyal to him − not because he wanted to, just because he would easily sacrifice the lives of others to get what he wanted. He'd released all his Death Eaters, and the wizarding world had been thrown into dark times, even darker than Voldemort's first reign. 

Because of this, when Voldemort was defeated at the end of Draco's Hogwarts career (because of − this might come as a shock − Harry Potter, who had managed to kill him off for good), Azkaban was rebuilt with new security that was just about impossible to penetrate. No visitors were allowed to see the former Death Eaters. Every package, letter, and owl was run through by magic to make sure they didn't carry anything threatening. The new precautions made it nearly impossible to free anyone or for anyone to escape. 

Nearly.

Blaise and Pansy and their families had _somehow_ not been found associated with the Dark Lord, so they didn't have any relatives in Azkaban and had avoided the prison themselves. Draco had had to fake his own death in order to escape the prospect of going to jail, despite the fact he didn't deserve it. He wasn't a Death Eater − he'd never gotten to his initiation before Voldemort was defeated. But the Ministry had figured he was the son of the most important Death Eater, and therefore was a threat to society and needed to be locked away for life. 

So Draco had pulled some homeless man off the street, shoved Polyjuice Potion down his throat, and had killed him. Ironically, the only crime he'd ever committed he'd gotten away with.

Until he'd been spotted a year ago in France.

That was why Pansy and Blaise had to be careful when they visited him. They didn't want to be seen associating with Draco and risk Azkaban themselves. His situation made it near impossible to get The Plan plotted out; if he hadn't been on the run, they would've had it completed months ago.

It had actually been the pair of them who had approached Draco with The Plan to free the Death Eaters. Even though they'd skirted Azkaban, they had been and still vaguely were strong supporters of Voldemort. They had figured Draco would want to be apart of their plan, considering his dad was in Azkaban. Not to mention they could've desperately used another brain and body, and Draco was the only person out of prison that could help them. 

They'd known he was actually alive; were the only ones in the world who had known until recently. He'd told them he was going to use a decoy to pose as his dead self before he'd done it. Pansy and Blaise had been and always would be the only two people in the world he trusted. During the time, Draco's life had been confusing; his father had just been sent to Azkaban, his mother was talking about moving out of England, the Ministry had been sending owl after owl claiming they were sending dementors to his house to collect him for jail. It had been a last minute decision to kill himself off. Truth be told, he had been rather . . . intimidated at the thought of "dying" and no one knowing the truth. So he had told his two closest friends, making them swear they would never try to contact him, and knowing full well they would if they wanted to, and had died. So to speak. 

And they had contacted him, with a proposition**. **Draco hadn't refused to help them. The truth was, he'd only agreed because he needed a project to stay occupied with. Running from the Ministry had lost its flair. ****

And now, after six long months of planning, they were on the threshold of putting The Plan into action. Just one more month . . . four more weeks . . . and the Death Eaters would be free. The Ministry would be so occupied trying to rally them back up they'd most likely forget all about Draco. He'd be able to escape and establish a safe life so articulately the Ministry wouldn't be able to find him once they began to pick up the pieces once more. 

"We can't have the Ministry on your arse now, Draco," Blaise said tonelessly. "It was all right during the beginning, because we were just sketching the tiny parts of The Plan together − we didn't need to spend long amounts of time thinking on it together. But now . . . now that we're almost finished . . . we'll need to work together for days at a time. We still need to perfect that spell −"

"Do you think I'm not aware of that?" Draco snapped. "Believe me, I would be much happier than you two if I wasn't being chased by the Ministry. But I am, and there's nothing I can do about it."

"Isn't there?" Pansy questioned softly. 

The two men looked at her. Not for the first time Draco thought that when she didn't have her face screwed into a grimace − which is what she did when she didn't like something, and that was often − her resemblance to a pug faded and she was attractive. As they stared, waiting for her to go on, she swung her legs off of Draco's lap gracefully, her curls bouncing, a small smile on her lips.

"I just got an idea," she said slowly, looking pleased with herself. 

A few seconds passed, and she merely appeared lost in thought, a smile fixed on her small features. Finally, Draco said piercingly, "We're waiting, Parkinson."

Pansy ignored his tone, licked her lips. Then she purred,** "What if . . . _we_ had the Ministry send someone after you?"******

There was a pause. "That would be wonderful, Pansy," said Blaise with slight impatience. "It's not as if they don't already send someone on their own, without our help."

"Just listen, Blaise," Pansy said delicately. "We can use the Imperius Curse on the Head of Aurors. After all, they're only sending Aurors after you, aren't they?" Without waiting for Draco to answer, she went on. "We can use the Imperius Curse on the man, and have him send whoever we choose after Draco."

Blaise cut in. "Pansy, if we go through all the trouble to use the Imperius Curse, then why not use it to have the Head of Aurors call off the hunt on Draco?"

Pansy narrowed her cloudy blue eyes at him. "Don't be daft, Blaise. That would be too suspicious. The Ministry wants Draco − badly enough, evidently, to be after him even after a year − and they won't accept the Head just 'calling it off'. They might hire another Head, or try to figure out why this one is abruptly changing his mind and find out we were using the Imperius Curse on him −"

"All right, I get your point," Blaise interrupted. 

Pansy smiled − more like grimaced − and reached across Draco to pat Blaise's cheek. "Blaise, darling, you need to trust me. If we use the Imperius Curse on the Head, then we can have him send out the most incompetent Auror he has."

"Unfortunately, there's no such thing," Draco said, half-smirking. "There are only about ten Aurors now, and they've all been after me. I've seen them in action, and they're anything but incompetent. If you're going where I think you're going with this, Pansy, the Aurors will only get in our way. Like they have been."

"Then we'll have them send a Hit Wizard," shrugged Pansy. "You know, those blokes who try to merely enforce magical law and don't do anything nearly as violent and dangerous as the Aurors do. Or better yet, a Hit Wizard in training."

"Please tell me this," Blaise said, now entertained by Pansy's absurd scheme. "The Ministry would get suspicious if the Head of Aurors calls off the chase for Draco. But they won't suspect a thing if the Head sends a Hit-Wizard-in-training?"

"Leave all the details to me, love," Pansy said, grinning once more. "Auntie Pansy will figure everything out."

Draco mulled the idea over in his head. Pansy did have a point, he had to give her that. If someone who didn't know what he was doing was sent after Draco, the bugger would be easy to brush off. It would be effortless to sneak around with Pansy and Blaise and complete The Plan.

"All right, Pansy," Draco relented, reaching out to fluff her perfect hair. She shrieked and tried to duck out of his hand. "I'll just have to trust you, won't I?"

Pansy, irritated that he'd messed with her hair, snapped at him. "Sod off."

* * *

_Thursday, 6 March, 2003___

"Weasley!" 

Ginny jumped, spilling hot tea into her lap. She bit her lip to hold back a curse and glanced up. Her boss, Jacob Creedmoore, had his head stuck in the doorway and his squinty eyes on her. 

"My office, now," he ordered, and promptly disappeared from view. 

"Ouch, that has to hurt," Anid Klepter murmured sympathetically. "Want me to clean it for you?"

"No," Ginny grumbled, trying to find an empty spot on her desk free from her papers to put her cup down. She ended up putting it on top of a blank parchment, figuring she could sacrifice it. "I've got it, thanks."

Ginny and Anid shared an office, along with another girl, Jocelyn Umber. Jocelyn was, at the moment, out for tea with her boss ("Tea," Anid had scoffed at the excuse, "more like gone to shag him senseless"). 

The three of them were Hit Witches in training and under the supervision of different Hit Wizards or Witches. In Ginny's opinion, Anid and Jocelyn had ended up luckier than her. Anid's supervisor was a kind-hearted woman named Regina Winston, and Jocelyn's supervisor was a good-looking, sex-machine who went by the single name of Gareth. Ginny was stuck with round, middle-age, and ill-tempered Jacob Creedmoore. 

Ginny was practically Creedmoore's slave. She was aware that those in training had to do everything their boss told them, such as paperwork, personal errands, and occasionally accompany them on jobs. But it seemed Creedmoore only had her do the trivial stuff; the paperwork and the personal errands. In the six months Ginny had been there, she had gone with Creedmoore on only two jobs. 

But Ginny put up with it. She had made it this far; the only way to go was up. And Ginny, as she often prided herself, wasn't a quitter.

"He rarely ever calls you into his office," Anid pointed out as Ginny waved her wand to vanish the tea stain from her skirt. With it went the burning sensation on her skin, and she released a breath.

"I know," Ginny sighed. Creedmoore liked to order her around in Ginny's office, or around other respected Hit Wizards/Witches, just to show his authority. He only called her into his office privately about once every other month. "Last time he wanted me in his office," Ginny told Anid sourly, "I had to translate a ten parchment letter in Greek to Finnish. _Finnish!_ He claimed he had to send it to the Minster in Finland or some such nonsense − bullocks, I say, he just wanted to keep me up for two consecutive nights. . . ."

"Well," Anid said, holding up her own cup of tea in a toast, "here's to hoping that no more parchments written in Greek are waiting for you to translate them into another impossible language."

Ginny had to laugh. "Wish me luck," she said dramatically, and headed out.

"I thought I just did?" Anid yelled after her.

Ginny lost her smile as she approached her boss's office. She began to feel slightly anxious. Maybe this time, Creedmoore would have something useful for her to do. Some important task that would hint that she was nearly ready to become a full Hit Witch. She'd been in training for almost a half a year now, and most Hit people she'd spoken with had left training after about three months. It was double past her time; in fact, she'd recently begun to wonder if she was some sort of imbecile for not completing the training in the usual amount of time. She'd reassured herself with the fact that it wasn't her − it was her impossible boss.

_Maybe he's going to tell me now that I'm ready to be a Hit Witch_, she thought, and couldn't stop her smile from returning. It was foolish to hope . . . but not useless.

Ginny was ready to have a real job. She'd been living with her parents up until recently; she finally had her own flat now and was _independent. Sure, she still returned to The Burrow every Sunday afternoon for dinner, but she was pretty much on her own. All she needed was a genuine job and everything would be perfect. Then she could focus on finding a boyfriend who she'd date more than once, which would then lead to marriage, which would then lead to another Weasley-related family with ten children._

Creedmoore's door was open, but she knocked anyway to announce her presence. He was scribbling on a parchment and didn't look up as he said gruffly, "Sit down." She walked in and started to sit in the chair in front of the desk when he suddenly snapped, "Shut the door first," as if she were the stupidest person alive for not knowing to do it. She obeyed him, refusing to feel inadequate as she normally did in his presence, and then sat down. 

He kept on writing, ignoring her, for about five minutes. She found she was glaring at the top of his shiny, bald head and relaxed. She disliked the man thoroughly, but, she had come to find only recently, she grudgingly respected him. The man was actually quite brilliant . . . even when he didn't want to act like it.

Finally, when Ginny was seconds from standing and leaving the office (oh, who was she fooling, she would never do anything that extreme), Creedmoore slapped down his quill and raised his beady eyes to her. For a minute, he seemed to scrutinize her, and she tried not to squirm uncomfortably.

Before she could stop herself, she blurted, "What? Do I have ink on my face?" Her tone was bit too harsh, and she immediately wished she could take the words back.

Creedmoore, however, ignored her. Abruptly, almost like a bark, he asked, "Do you know why you're not a Hit Witch yet, Weasley?"

Ginny's stomach fluttered. He was going to discuss the topic of being a Hit Witch with her! Cheering in her mind, she replied as calmly as possible, "No, sir, I don't."

"Well," he said gruffly, "you're qualified. But," he added quickly, seeing her face brighten, "qualification isn't good enough for me. I'm keeping you as my trainee, Weasley, because you don't have the traits I like to see in Hit Witches."

Ginny's excitement began to bubble into anger. _That's unfair! she thought hotly. If she was qualified, that meant by Ministry standards she should be a Hit Witch. But _no_, she had to follow Creedmoore standards as well. Not for the first time she wished she was under the supervision of Sex-God-Gareth. _

Had she thought she respected her boss? Well, she'd lied. She loathed the hairless creature who sat before her.

"And what traits are those, sir?" she asked, struggling to keep her voice controlled.

"Punctuality, for one thing," said Creedmoore, loudly and incredulously, as though he couldn't believe she didn't know what traits. "You waltz into this building ten or fifteen minutes late every morning."

"That's because my clock doesn't work correctly −" Ginny began.

"Buy a new clock, then," Creedmoore cut her off. "Or sleep at a friend's. That's not even one of the most important traits I need to see in you. I need to see self-control −"

"I _have_ self-control!" Ginny declared fiercely, forgetting all restraints that were keeping her civil.

"− because if you loose your head trying to catch law offenders, it will get you nowhere," he completed. "I need to see respect −"

"_What_?" Ginny fairly shrieked.

"− to _me_, but you'll also need to respect the criminals, even if you only act like it; being rude will get you nowhere −"

"I'm not _rude_!" 

"You lack appreciation for the rules; how many times do I remind you of the rule against dating within the company, and how many times have I caught you snogging one of my coworkers shamelessly?"

"I don't date them, I just kiss them . . . a bit . . . in fact, that whole thing with Robert was a misunderstanding," Ginny explained helplessly, having the decency to blush. "And you've only caught me twice − once when you exclude the Robert affair, er, incident − that's hardly enough to say I disregard the rules. . . ."

"There are other rules you ignore as well," Creedmoore snapped. "'No eating in the staff lounge' − and then there you are, with the messiest sandwich just oozing all sorts of meats and . . . and condiments −"

"What's the point of a lounge if you can't eat in it?" Ginny retorted.

"To _sit, relax, be social_!" Creedmoore bellowed with exasperation. "Christ, Weasley, you're seconds from being thrown from my office by the scruff of your neck if you don't sit there quietly and refrain from interrupting me again."

Ginny bit her lip and prayed she could keep her mouth shut.

Creedmoore seemed to run out of steam. Breathing loudly through his nostrils, he said, "Anyway, I didn't call you here to point out all your faults − though God knows, someone needs to. I'm here to tell you that, against my warnings, the Ministry has asked for you precisely to do a job."

Ginny perked up immediately, exhilaration rumbling in her stomach once again. "A Hit job?" she asked, a bit eagerly.

Creedmoore leaned back in his chair. "Not necessarily. It's actually been an Auror job for the past year."

"Year?" Ginny frowned. "That's a long time to be trying to kill somebody."

"Aurors don't try to _kill people, Weasley," Creedmoore said sharply. "They catch their You-Know-Who-Loving-Arses and send them to Azkaban."_

"Thanks, sir, I didn't know that," Ginny said simply, sarcasm laced in her voice. She _only_ had a brother who was an Auror, and was close friends with another. 

Creedmoore looked at her, trying to decipher if she was being insolent with him, and let it pass. "You probably _do know, however, that these last five years, the Aurors have had their hands full trying to round up anyone who was in any way associated with the Dark Lord." _

Voldemort had been defeated at the end of Ginny's sixth year by Harry Potter. He (Voldemort) was gone, dead . . . never to return. It was amazing, of course, that no one close to Ginny had died over the years of his terrible − but final − reign . . . except for Sirius Black, but she didn't associate his death with the Second War. Every time she thought of him, she felt a fresh stab of sadness and tried to think of something else.

Many Aurors had been killed, however, and ever since then, the Auror population had remained small. Only a dozen or so remained now. Harry had (surprise) become an Auror, along with Ron, and despite how much he complained about it when he thought only Ron was listening, Ginny knew he had a secret passion for it. 

Creedmoore went on with his speech. "The Aurors had thought they'd gotten all those associated with the Dark Lord and had their hides in Azkaban. Then about a year ago someone reported seeing an old schoolmate down in France who they knew was strongly connected to him. Background checks proved that this man _was connected, and that he hadn't been captured yet. They sent an Auror after him –"_

"Why hadn't he been captured?" Ginny interrupted. It was her nature to be inquisitive, and that was sometimes rather obnoxious.

"He'd wanted to be forgotten about, and had managed to do it up until recently," Creedmoore grunted, his feathers ruffled at being interrupted.

Huh. That explained nothing, only confusing Ginny more. 

"Anyway, the Ministry sent an Auror after this man. But somehow, he escaped, moved to a different country, and changed his name. They've been after this son of a bitch for a year now, and he always outsmarts them. First he was in France, then the Netherlands, then Belguim, Italy, Switzerland, Germany . . ."

"I get the point," Ginny interrupted. "I just don't understand what it has to do with us." Hit Wizards/Witches and Aurors had been two separate professions that rarely ever associated with each other ever since Voldemort's death. "Aurors have been and still are better at capturing Dark Wizards than we are, and everyone knows that," Ginny added.

"Well," Creedmoore drawled, "therein lies the problem. This is the one wizard they haven't been able to snatch. And it's been driving them crazy. After a little research and thinking – or so they claim – they decided they needed someone undercover. They decided to dump him on us."

"Why? They're better at undercover then we are, too," Ginny frowned.

"They're not better; they've done that sort of thing many times and have experience," Creedmoore corrected harshly. He seemed offended. "They gave us – or should I say you – this job because you meet the criteria they're looking for. They figured they needed someone young, someone female . . . you know, to catch this guy's attention. There are only three female Aurors left, and the youngest is a forty-year-old woman who has five kids and the hips to prove it. So the Head Auror, Octavious Dunnegan, owled me yesterday, requesting you specifically."

Ginny tried not to flush with pride. As modestly as she could manage, she asked, "Why me? I'm not a Hit Witch yet." _Though I should be, she added stubbornly._

"They figured you have an advantage," said Creedmoore. "Our youngest Hit Witch here is thirty but as ugly as a hag."

Ginny almost protested. She knew who he was talking about, and she thought Paisley was very nice. Ginny really couldn't deny, however, that it was almost painful to look at the woman.

And yet, what was with all this talk of not-so-fashionable women? What did looks and youth and being a female necessarily have to do with going undercover? Ginny understood that they wanted someone approachable, but wouldn't they rather have someone experienced and cake them with cosmetics and appearance-altering spells than . . . well, her?

All that aside and ignored, the question then was why _her_ out of all the trainees? Why not Anid or Jocelyn? After all, Jocelyn was better looking than Ginny. And Anid had a bubblier personality. But Ginny was too proud and thrilled about being chosen to question the specifics. 

"Also," Creedmoore said, glancing at a parchment on his desk, "according to this letter, the biggest advantage you have over him is that you might've known him. You went to school with him for six years. The name Draco Malfoy ring a bell?"

"Malfoy?" Ginny raised her eyebrows in surprise. That was a name she hadn't heard in a while. Suddenly she had to fight the urge to smile; if they knew the relationship Ginny had had with Malfoy, they wouldn't say she had an advantage in the slightest. "Yes, I remember him."

"But you didn't know that he supposedly died five years ago," Creedmoore assumed.

Ginny's eyes widened. "What? No, I never heard of that."

"He was found dead a few years ago," he explained, "in his home. About a week after You-Know-Who was killed and the Aurors were starting to capture all those connected to him. If they had known that it wasn't his dead body, and that he was still alive, they probably would've hunted for him until they caught him."

"So he's not really dead," Ginny concluded.

Creedmoore scowled at her. "If he was, you think we'd be going through this much trouble to get him?" he demanded. 

He began shifting through the parchments on his desk, which was – Ginny noted with a satisfied smirk – messier than hers. He pulled out a single parchment and threw it at her. It fluttered, causing her to leap up to grab at it. She fumbled with it for a second and then sat back down. 

"Nice catch," he sneered, causing her to fume silently and look down at the parchment. "That came with the letter from Dunnegan. It should fill you in on everything you need to know about Malfoy. Just tap it with your wand to read more information."

When he didn't continue, Ginny looked up again, confused. "So if you thought Malfoy was dead," she said, "then how did you know that it was actually him in France?"

"A couple curious Aurors dug up the body that was supposed to be Malfoy's, and did some brief testing," Creedmoore answered. "The results proved that the body wasn't his. Whoever had died that day had taken a Polyjuice Potion to transform himself to look like Malfoy, and then was killed while he still had that form. Since the potion wasn't circulating in the dead fellow's body, it took about a year for the effects to wear off. When they dug him up the man – though he was so decomposed his face was unidentifiable – he clearly wasn't Draco Malfoy."

"How do you know that for sure?" Ginny questioned. She wasn't doubtful; just curious. "I mean, couldn't the bloke they found in France just resemble Malfoy?"

"We have several witnesses who had known him back at Hogwarts − including your brother and your friend Potter − who confirmed that it was Draco Malfoy when they tried to catch him themselves," Creedmoore said. "Besides, if it wasn't Malfoy, then why would the guy run from us? An innocent person wouldn't have anything to hide."

"Why would he fake his death, though?" she continued. She noted with some satisfaction she had managed to utterly annoy him.

"So _we_ wouldn't catch him and send him to Azkaban," Creedmoore snapped. "Weasley, are you always this quick?"

She chose to ignore him. "Ah. But that's where I get slightly confused. He was just a kid when he 'died', when You-Know-Who was defeated. He was still under his parents' legal guardianship. How could he be considered a Dark Wizard?"

"His father was _merely_ the most powerful Death Eater," said Creedmoore through gritted teeth. "Weasley, even if this Malfoy wasn't a direct messenger for You-Know-Who, he still was connected in more ways than many who are sitting in Azkaban now were. Not to mention he's resisted capture eleven times. The department wants his balls on a silver platter, and they want you to do it − my recommendations be damned. So are you taking the job or not?"

Ginny would be far too stupid to refuse. "Of course I'm taking it," she said shortly. "I never said I wouldn't. I just need instructions. What do you want me to do in Spain?"

"We need him to come back to England before we can touch him," he said. "He was last spotted in Spain, and on Spanish soil we can't touch him. We need his arse here, or else the Spanish ministry has claims on him and can imprison him. _We want him. Add him to our collection in Azkaban. So what you need to do is bring him here."_

"How do I do that?"

"Well, he's not supposed to know you work for us," Creedmoore said, standing up and stretching his back. "You'll have to confront him in Spain. You know, put on a push-up bra and spend a few extra minutes on your hair so you look halfway decent."

Ginny reached up to touch her hair defensively. She thought her hair was quite nice, thank you very much.

"Do whatever you think will bring him back here to England," Creedmoore continued. "Befriend him, seduce him, whatever. Just get him back here."

"How long do I have?"

"However long it takes," he answered. "But if I was you, and I wanted to be a Hit Witch, I'd bring Malfoy back here as soon as humanly possible so I would have a good résumé. Though if you successfully do this job, even if it takes a while, you'll most likely be a Hit Witch the day you come home." He mumbled the last sentence stingily.

Ginny couldn't help but say, "Even if _you don't think I'm __qualified?"_

He made a point to pretend he hadn't heard her. "Under no circumstances, Weasley, are you to let Malfoy know you work for us," he said severely. "The minute he finds out, he'll be out of that country so fast you won't have time to blink. And you'll botch this entire mission."

Right. No pressure or anything, Weasley. 

"Any other questions?" grumbled Creedmoore. She didn't even have a chance to open her mouth before he said, "Good, then get out of here. And shut the door on the way out."

* * *

**A/N**: Okay, chapter 1 done, and as always, not that thrilling.

Oh, and just for the record: I think Blaise Zabini is a female. I just needed a guy Slytherin, so I decided to make him male in this fic. 

Next chapter: Ginny heads over to Spain, gets cracking on tracking Draco (hee, I rhymed), and I do believe they meet for the first time in five years.

Until next time, then!


	2. Amistoso Inn

**A/N**: Well, I completely expected to have this out about a week ago, before I went out of town. But then, like the complete 'tard that I am, I _forgot to post it. I couldn't believe it. So sorry for the delay._

And, ha, well, uh, the predictions I made for this chapter in the last chapter were slightly off. I miscalculated, so sue me. This chapter turned out to be longer than I planned, too. But ah well, I think everyone will survive. Not much Draco, I apologize.

**Disclaimer:** Most everything you recognize belongs to JK Rowling. I do, however, own Ms. Okal, Maili, Kevin, Shannon, and Nathaniel Marksmon. 

Special thanks to Elaine for fixing the Americanisms.

On with the show!

**Chapter Two**

**_The Amistoso Inn_**

Anid squealed with Ginny when she returned to the office. The minute Ginny walked in, she screeched, "I'm on a job!" causing Anid to leap out of her seat. The two of them had jumped up and down like little girls.

"I'm jealous!" Anid gasped, grabbing the parchment from Ginny's hands. "Okay then," she said, jealousy forgotten, "let's see what this is all about, shall we?"

Anid sat back down, and Ginny came behind her to read over her shoulder. The parchment read: _Mission__ Malfoy: Ministry Eyes Only. Ginny tapped it with her wand, and the words melted away and a new image emerged. A short biography of Draco Malfoy, and a picture of him at the top corner. It was the most recent school picture of him, taken in his seventh year. He was leaning against the picture edge, his arms crossed, blinking every now and then to prove it wasn't a Muggle photograph. His expression was stony._

"Smiley fellow, isn't he?" Anid said cheerfully. "But good-looking . . . never really go for blondes myself, but even as an under-aged twit he looks good, eh?"

"He made lives miserable at Hogwarts," sighed Ginny. "I never really had the . . . opportunity, to view him as a potential boyfriend."

"Pity," Anid said, and they both giggled.

"Name," Ginny read, "Draco Lerato Malfoy - _Lerato?" They laughed again. "What a __horrible middle name. If only I'd known that at school, I could've used it against him. . . ."_

"Birth: the first of July, 1980," Anid went on. "Hair: blonde, Eyes: grey . . . _ooh, grey, that sounds delightfully sexy."_

"Gray makes me think of a rock," Ginny muttered. "Height: 5'7," she read further.

"Short, isn't he? Seems like he'd be taller . . . Weight: 159 pounds. Sure are exact. I wonder how they got this information," Anid mused. 

"I don't want to know," Ginny said, and Anid laughed. 

Before they could return to the parchment, Jocelyn strolled in to the office. 

"Oh, hullo," Anid called happily. "Have a nice shag - tea break, I mean?"

Jocelyn shot them a mischievous grin, dropping her purse onto her desk on the opposite side of the office. "I had a great shag, thank you," she replied, walking over to them. "What were you giggling about?"

"Just reading the statistics on Ginny's job," replied Anid casually. 

The result was Jocelyn shrieking much like Anid had done. "A _job_! Oh, Ginny, that's not fair. I'm so jealous," Jocelyn said, proceeding to pout.

"It's perfectly fair," Anid said matter-of-factly. "She's been here four months longer than we have. It's about bloody time, I say."

Ginny smiled appreciatively. "Thanks, Anid. Don't worry, Jocelyn, I'll be sure to bring you lots of souvenirs from Spain."

"_Spain!" Jocelyn wailed. "Oh, you absolute _evil _bitch, rubbing it in my face like that." But Jocelyn apparently wasn't too heart-broken, because she came around Anid's desk to read over her other shoulder. "Well, let's see who this lad that you have to follow is. Name: Draco Lerato Mal. . . ."_

"We've already read that part. We're on parents. Parents," Ginny read promptly, "Lucius Malfoy (currently resides in Azkaban prison). Narcissa Malfoy (now Narcissa Yorick, spouse of Havard Yorick; currently resides in Scandinavia) -"

"This rubbish is boring, let's see some more recent pictures," Jocelyn interjected keenly.

Ginny obliged; she'd be able to go over the information closely by herself anyway. Tapping the parchment with her wand, the biography disappeared. Across the bottom appeared a flap, and it took the girls a moment to figure out that it was a folder. Anid reached into the flap and pulled out a stack of square photographs, all of Malfoy.

Jocelyn emitted a low whistle and Anid sucked in a breath when they saw the picture on top. It was taken when Malfoy was unaware, obviously, and showed him crossing a street. He wore Muggle clothes, a pair of grey trousers and a black jumper. He had his hands in his pockets and was strolling, almost casually, across the photograph. When he walked out of view, he appeared again at the other side and began the same journey once more. 

"I've changed my mind," Anid breathed, "I go for blondes."

"Ginny, my dear, I love you much, but I'm sorely tempted to knock you out, use your hairs to activate my Polyjuice Potion, and take your place," Jocelyn said with a bit too much passion.

"Thanks, Jocelyn," Ginny said grimly, slapping her back rather hard. 

For the next ten minutes, Ginny watched with detached interest as her two immature friends perused the pictures. They _oohed whenever there was one of Draco doing various activities, such as cooking, reading, writing with Muggle pens, even tying his shoes, which they got a kick out of. They particularly loved the one where Draco was removing his shirt. They booed at the few photographs of him with various beautiful women, though they continued to gush on how great he looked dressed up. _

Ginny, on the other hand, looked at the pictures with growing dread in her stomach. Seeing Draco Malfoy's face again brought back rather painful memories of what the git had been like back at Hogwarts. She'd despised him back then; perhaps she still did, who knew. And now, after having not given the man a passing thought in half a decade, she would have to try and get close and personal with him in order to bring him back to England. She might even have to . . . become his romantic interest. 

Ginny didn't have a problem with men or relationships with them. But a relationship with Draco Malfoy? She would rather become a nun.

_It's for your job, Ginny_, she told herself firmly. _It won't mean anything. Strictly professional._

As she pondered it a bit more, she came to conclude that the hardest part wouldn't be befriending him. Oh, that would take considerable work, but there were more complicated issues to pursue. Saying that she did somehow weasel (pardon the pun) her way into his life, how would she _ever_ convince him to come back to England? He might be vindictive, but he wasn't stupid. He wouldn't come back to the country where every official was waiting to lock him up simply because his mate or romantic interest chided him into doing so.

Before Ginny could think in depth, Anid's boss, Regina Winston, poked her head into the office and said she required Anid's presence to help her with something. Resentfully, Jocelyn admitted she had work to do as well, and they returned the pictures to the flap with regret. Ginny took the parchment and returned to her own desk, ready to pore over it in peace.

For the rest of the work day, Ginny read the information given to her. She read facts she already knew - somebody who was presumed to be Malfoy was found dead in late June 1998, the real Malfoy was spotted in France in April 2002, eleven Aurors (technically ten - one had been sent twice) had attempted to catch him over the past eleven months, and he was last seen a week ago in Madrid, Spain.

To be honest, she learned absolutely nothing of any value. She could tell anyone who was interested that Malfoy had been born in his own house, in the early morning hours of the first of July. Also armed with knowledge as ridiculous as the fact that he had broken his right arm at age three playing a child's game of Quidditch and had risked having it grow in shorter than his left, she felt she could easily pass any test given out on the topic of Draco Malfoy. 

_How is this supposed to help me? _she wondered,furrowing her eyebrows._ This is absolutely useless information that I could have lived another healthy sixty years without knowing._

At the end of the day, Creedmoore came by Ginny's office again. Both Jocelyn and Anid paused in their work to look at him, eager to hear what he had to say.

"I expect to see you in my office tomorrow morning for travel details, Weasley," said Creedmoore. "You leave for Madrid on Saturday."

* * *

"I," Pansy declared with flourish, "am a genius."

Draco glanced up from the book he was trying to read - the nonsense Muggle thriller couldn't keep his attention - and fixed his gaze on Pansy. She had just burst into his apartment and hadn't bothered to say hello. She was beaming, looking positively ecstatic with herself. 

In one swift movement she had removed her lavender cloak and thrown it onto the sofa. She crossed the room in two strides, then stood steadily in front of him, crossing her arms. "Well?" she asked expectantly when he merely returned his eyes to his book. "Aren't you going to ask why I'm so intelligent?"

"If I cared," drawled Draco, turning the page, "maybe I would."

Pansy didn't listen. She perched herself on the arm of the large chair he was seated in, crossed her legs elegantly, and launched into her story. "Yesterday I did some research. Tried to do a little background check on every witch and wizard who's in the law enforcement department. Fortunately for me, I was granted access to all the information on Aurors and Hit Wizards. . . ."

Draco smirked. He knew what she meant by "granted access" . . . she'd probably slept with someone who had admission to what she wanted. That was how Pansy did business.

". . . and I read all I needed to know. It took a couple of hours, but I finally had narrowed our . . . prospective client . . . down to two trainees. One was some poor nineteen-year old who has every ailment known to wizardkind. The other was someone we both . . ." She trailed off, trying to think of the correct way to word it. ". . . have heard of," she settled on. "And do you know which one of the two I chose?"

 Draco didn't reply, pretending to be reading his novel. Pansy was well aware that he was listening and plunged on, "I chose that dear, dear friend . . . Virginia Weasley."

It actually took Draco a full second before the name registered in his memory. He lowered his book to his lap and fixed Pansy with a blank stare. "A Weasley?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. 

Pansy laughed, not quite girlishly enough to be considered a giggle, and clapped her hands. "Oh, but here's the best part. She's been a Hit Witch in training for six months . . . _twice as long as the longest amount of time it took someone to leave training. That proves that she's quite incompetent, wouldn't you agree?" _

Draco returned to his reading as a reply. 

"It will be easy to have her out of our way," Pansy went on, unbothered by his lack of interest. "Because - here's an even _better_ part - I made it so that she's not here to kill you, or stun you, as all the other Aurors had tried to do. No, _she's_ here to _bring you back to __England. Out of your own free will."_

He closed his book with an exasperated sigh. "All right, I'm listening," he snapped. He liked Pansy, and that was saying a lot, considering he really didn't like anyone, but there were times when she grated his nerves significantly. 

Pansy trilled her laughter once more. "Last evening, after I had everything plotted out in my head, I visited our friend Octavious Dunnegan, Head of Aurors. I . . . _persuaded_ him to write a letter to Weasley's boss, requesting her for this mission. I called it -" She laughed yet again "- Mission Malfoy.

"So now," she said vividly, standing up and twirling to face him, her skirt fluttering around her legs, "not only do you have a daft Weasley after you, but she's also trying to talk you into returning to England. That way, she'll need to spend a long amount of time down here, and therefore the Ministry won't send another, more able person after you. You can brush her off easily, and by the time she suspects something - that is, if she ever does - the Death Eaters will be running free."

Draco shook his head at her, reluctantly admitting to himself that Pansy had done a thorough job. He couldn't think of any flaws; not on the surface, anyway. 

But . . . the idea of a Weasley being after him bothered him. He didn't exactly have a soft spot for the Weasley family. In fact, one of the perks of "dying" was that he'd never have to worry about running into people he despised.

Perhaps he hadn't really _despised the Weasley family. But they irritated him in every way possible. Even thinking back on it, thinking about how much of a spoiled brat he'd used to be (but who was he kidding, he still was a spoiled brat), he couldn't find anything likeable about the bunch. _

And yet he couldn't deny it would be easy to keep a Weasley off his back. All he had to do was throw a few crushing comments her way every now and then. It would be like old times.

Hmm. Maybe this could be fun.

"Thanks," he said distractedly, and opened his book once again.

"You won't get off that easily, Malfoy," Pansy warned, snatching the book out of his hands. She lowered her face towards his, smirking widely. "Come on, say it. You know it's true."

His mouth tugged into a grin - Pansy never ceased to entertain him - but he managed to get a hold of himself and sneered instead. "_Fine_. Pansy, you're a genius."

She all but purred.

* * *

_Friday, 7 March, 2003_

"You'll be travelling by the Floo network," explained Creedmoore the next morning, grumpy as usual. 

Ginny was once again in his office (having arrived at work precisely on time, she reminded herself with a smile of pride) and receiving travel information while picking up on the fact that her boss was extremely bitter. He was scowling viciously at her from across his desk - _must've had a rough night, she mused pleasantly, smiling wider at him. She herself had slept like the dead and was feeling brighter than ever at the prospect of getting to work._

"Apparting so far of a distance isn't safe," he went on, as if she didn't know. "I'm letting you go home early today, at lunch -" his frown deepened "- so you can pack all your crap. And I mean _all. I won't have you wasting money because you need to buy more clothes, or a toothbrush, or shampoo -"_

"What if I run out?" she asked primly.

He went on, her question falling on purposely-deaf ears. "You'll carry everything you're bringing along with you back to my office tonight at seven - any later and you're going possession-less. I won't wait around for you. I'll have all of your luggage sent straight to your inn in Madrid, so once you arrive by Floo all your things will be waiting for you. 

"The place you'll be staying is Amistoso Inn," he added, shoving a leaflet across his desk. 

She leaned forward to take it. Settling back into her seat, her eyes scanned the front flap. There was a photograph of a building that looked like a large house, white and welcoming. A plump grey-haired woman stood on the front porch, smiling warmly and waving enthusiastically. A sign beside the bright yellow door read, _Amistoso Inn: Since 1887. Underneath the picture was a caption: _On your visit to one of __Europe__'s most fascinating Muggle cities, come spend your nights at Amistoso Inn! The friendliest inn "in" all of ___Madrid__!_

"Charming," Ginny murmured, a thrill of excitement running through her. 

"It's not the only wizarding inn in the city, but it's one of the cheapest," Creedmore said, evidently feeling the need to make the fact known. "It's run by a British witch; communicating with her shouldn't be an issue. Then again, any sort of communication with you, Weasley, tends to be a problem."

She opened her mouth to intervene, but he hurried on.

"You'll be Flooed directly there," he instructed. "The owner - Aderyn Okal; I think that's her name - knows of your business, but I strongly advise you to keep it to yourself. Only discuss it with her if she brings it up, and if she does, keep your answers short and mostly vague. Hear me?"

"I hear you," Ginny practically sang, unable to stop smiling foolishly at his reddening face.

"Dunnegan is making the largest mistake of his career," spat Creedmoore, "sending you on this job." He glared so furiously at Ginny for a minute she actually felt bad. "Now get out of my sight before I burst a jugular vein."

Ginny hesitated. "Sir?" she asked, forcing her face to remain blank and smile-free. "I have a question."

Creedmoore was already shifting through the clutter on his desk, his eyes lowered. "Make it quick. I have work to do; not all of us get to go on holidays in Spain."

Ginny bit her tongue, holding back the urge to retort that it _wasn't _a holiday; it was work. And a lot of work, if she did it correctly. But instead she said, "Why do I even have to, well, use my personality to lure Malfoy back here? Why can't I just stun him and lock him in a trunk and have him shipped back?"

Creedmoore paused, meeting her gaze with a look of incredulity. "Are you really asking that, Weasley?"

She bit her tongue once more before squeezing out, "Yes, sir, I am."

"Weasley," he said flatly, dropping his arms on his desk heavily. "Let me just run a crazy idea by you. Just a simple, insane thing that you might laugh off."

Ginny didn't appreciate the sarcasm in his voice. She frowned deeply at him.

"What - do - you - think - the - Aurors - have - tried - to - do?" he said very slowly, as if she were an infant. "I'll give you three guesses."

Ginny gnawed her lower lip. Okay, so the man had a point. But that didn't mean he had to make her feel like a fool. She avoided looking at him, afraid his expression would ignite her temper. She couldn't risk exploding at him, not now.

"They've _tried _stunning Malfoy," Creedmoore snapped. "Tried, after attempts to kill him failed, nearly eleven times. Tried in all sorts of different scenarios. And before they get the chance, the bastard jumps to the next country. Somehow, he knows when the Aurors have found him."

"So what makes this time any different?" Ginny murmured, still looking at her feet. "What makes us think that he doesn't know that I'm coming?"

"We don't," Creedmoore replied in a tone that claimed he found nothing wrong with that alternative. "But Dunnegan's ordered you to try a new approach. To get him to come willingly. Is this in any way unclear to you?"

"No," Ginny said sharply, and raised her head. He seemed amused with her. It took a considerable amount of energy to keep her anger leashed. Standing, she announced rather calmly, "I'm going home now, not at lunch. I have a lot of stuff to pack, _sir_. I'll see you tonight at seven."

She couldn't get out of the office fast enough.

* * *

The truth was, Ginny had needed extra time, but not to pack. She needed to go home and tell her parents personally that she was going away for a couple of months.

Only her mother was home when she Apparted into the kitchen of her childhood. Even though all of Ginny's brothers were living away from home, there was rarely a time when the household wasn't bustling with family members. Finding the house empty wasn't quite a surprise, but it was a relief. Ginny had not been too enthusiastic on telling one or more of her brothers that she would have to go hunt Malfoy down in Spain. They would probably stop her from going. But as it was the middle of the week, and during work hours, none of the Weasley men were home. 

Molly Weasley was sitting in the living room, knitting the Muggle way. Ginny knew that since all her children were grown and gone, Molly enjoyed doing things with her hands to keep busy. 

Her mum was thrilled to see her, and beckoned her back into the kitchen. There she set the appliances to work making tea and sat down at the table, across from Ginny.

"So, Ginny dear," she said, smiling, "what brings you home on a workday?" Then her smile faded into a look of concern. "You weren't sacked, were you?"

Ginny laughed. "No, Mum, of course not. I've got some exciting news. . . ." She went on to explain her situation.

After she had finished, and the teacups had flown across the room onto the table in front of the two women, Molly had looked even more concerned than before. "Madrid?" she questioned doubtfully. "Ginny, dear, I'm not so sure . . ."

"I know it's short notice," she said hastily, a horrible feeling washing over her. What if her mother refused to let her go? "But it's the biggest chance of my career. If I can bring this man back here, I can be a Hit Witch, no questions asked." She'd carefully left out the fact that she knew the man's name.

Molly looked pained. "I don't know, Ginny," she said tiredly, sighing. "How long will you be gone?"

Ginny shrugged. "A couple months," she said, then went on to add, "at the most."

"Two months? That's such a long time."

"It'll go by quickly," Ginny told her reassuringly.

"So . . . this man you're after, he isn't dangerous, is he?" Molly asked cautiously. She stirred her tea idly and gave Ginny a suspicious squint, looking unsure that she wanted to hear an answer.

"Of course he is, Mum, that's why the Ministry's after him," Ginny said, exasperated. Wrong answer. At her mother's rapidly worsening expression, she hurried to say, "Definitely not to me, of course. He won't know that I'm after him. He's only a threat to the Ministry."

She didn't want Molly to know that she hadn't the slightest clue if what she just said was true. She didn't like keeping things from her mum, but sometimes it was best. Sometimes mothers didn't need to know everything.

"What if he finds out you work for the Ministry?" demanded Molly.

"Mummy, you won't have to worry," Ginny said, standing up. "I promise, nothing will happen to me. This isn't dangerous. It's just a challenge. When I come back in a month, I'll be the same. Maybe my skin will be a little darker, but that's about it."

Her mother smiled at that, because they both knew that the chance of Ginny's skin tanning was about as probable as her hair turning blonde in the sunlight. But she sobered quickly and said, "Ginny, darling, I don't want you to go."

Ginny glanced down at her mother, frowning. "Are you going to forbid me to go, then?" she asked, tentatively. 

"No, no, of course not," she said. She stood up and placed her hands on Ginny's shoulders. She then fussed over her shirt, brushing off invisible dust and lint. "I trust your judgment, dear. If you think it's wise to go, then you go. I just don't want you to."

"Oh, Mum, I'll be fine," Ginny insisted, kissing her cheek. She stepped out of her mother's embrace. "I'll write you twice a week, and Floo you occasionally. Send Dad my love."

She Disapparated before Molly could say anything else. 

* * *

_Saturday, 8 March, 2003___

At seven o'clock in the morning, Ginny stood in the middle of the main hall at the Ministry of Magic. Bleary eyed, stomach rumbling over the single piece of toast she'd eaten for breakfast, she waited fifth in line to use a Floo fireplace. 

She hadn't slept much the night before. Nerves had kept her awake, and when she had drifted off, it was a light and restless slumber. Finally, around five thirty, she'd dragged herself out of bed and showered, dressed, and sat around for another hour, worrying. 

What made her think she could do this? The prospect of living in Spain alone for months frightened her plenty, but having to do a difficult task on top of it all? She began to wish she had turned down the offer.

Then she'd scolded herself fiercely. There was nothing stopping her from doing this job. It was well within her capabilities; it wasn't impossible. Yes, it would take work, but all things worth achieving in life did. She _would_ do it, and damn it, she would be proud afterwards.

Ginny's unsettled stomach gave a rather unpleasant lurch as the next person stepped through the Floo network. Now she was next in line.

She only carried a single bag; a Muggle pocketbook. In it, she had her wand and a roll of Muggle money given to her by Creedmoore ("This should last you the entire time; if I get any owls asking for more money, I'll have a heart attack and my death will be on your hands" - Ginny had found that threat a bit over the top, and rather temping as well). She couldn't really think of anything else to put inside it, as all her necessities had been packed in the two trunks that had been shipped ahead to Spain the night before.

The person in front of her stepped through the network. Her turn. She swallowed, bit her lower lip, and stepped forward to grab a handful of Floo powder. 

_I can do this_, she thought with forced confidence.

She dropped the powder into the flames, which erupted in a blaze of green. Taking a deep breath, smoothing her hands over her skirt, she practically leaped into them. With a surprisingly steady voice, she declared loudly, "Amistoso Inn!"

She was spun, violently, the motion causing her insides to clench and threaten to throw up her meagre breakfast. Clinging to her pocketbook, she squeezed her eyes shut and waited for the dizzying trip to stop.

After a full minute, it did. She just barely managed to keep her balance when the twirling halted abruptly. Feeling light-headed, she stumbled out of the fireplace, trying to gather her bearings.

She'd arrived into the front foyer. A glance to the right proved a front door - with a bay window above it - leading outside. To her left was a wide, green-carpeted staircase. Across the way was a receiving desk. There wasn't a soul around.

Ginny stepped further into the room, noting the cozy details of the place. On the pale yellow walls hung drawn pictures of various nature scenes. She immediately chose a favourite; a portrait of the rainforest, with multi-colored birds sitting on the branches and lizards scurrying up the tree trunks. As soon as the creatures spotted her, the birds began to chirp loudly, and the croaking of frogs was heard. 

It made quite a racket. Ginny wasn't sure if that was normal, or if she should try to quiet them in some way. They might've been disturbing some of the guests.

Not a second later a woman came bustling down the stairs. Ginny recognized her as the one waving on the front of the leaflet. She had an irritated look on her wrinkled face.

"Oh, hush up," she said to the picture as she hurried across the foyer. Then she fixed her eyes on Ginny and smiled warmly. "Sorry about them, poppet," she told her apologetically, coming around the desk. "They get excited every time someone new comes. Which is everyday. I really should move them into a back room. . . .

"Anyway, your name, poppet?" asked the woman - Aderyn Okal.

"Ginny," Ginny replied, taking her eyes off the noisy painting. "Ginny Weasley."

"Ah yes, Ms. Weasley," claimed Aderyn Okal. "Right on time, you are. I've put you in one of the inn's nicer rooms - sounds to me like you've got a tough job to do, so why not be comfortable when you can?"

Ginny smiled her thanks and had to stop herself from trying to gain more sympathy from the old woman. Her job would be difficult; it would be nice to complain to somebody about it. But Ginny didn't always ignore her boss; she remembered his warnings to keep her business vague, and she planned on doing such. 

"My name is Aderyn Okal, but you can call me Addy," she said kindly, smiling and causing her eye wrinkles to deepen. "Or Ms. Okal, whichever you prefer. 

"Your belongings just arrived this morning. Shall I show you to your room now?"

"Yes, please," Ginny said politely.

Ms. Okal led the way up the staircase she'd come from. At the top there was a hallway spreading down to the right and the left. There was another staircase leading up, but this one moved. Ginny glanced upwards, seeing that it could swivel completely around and reach any door on the third floor. 

"This used to be a Muggle house," Ms. Okal explained, leading Ginny down the right hallway and away from the swivelling staircase. "My husband - rest his soul - added the third story twenty years ago to make more room, which is why there's a moving stair. This floor doesn't have it, and I apologize."

"Not a problem for me," Ginny said. She wasn't used to having a stairway appear at her door every time she needed to go somewhere, anyway.

"Here's your room," Ms. Okal said, stopping in front of one of the several white doors. "Two-oh-three. The password is _Gerwin_. My husband," she added fondly as the door popped open. "This has always been my favourite room."

"Thank you, Ms. Okal," Ginny told her sincerely, and went through the doorway.

"One last thing, poppet," Ms. Okal said before shutting the door. "I like to do things old-fashioned around here. Downstairs you'll find a dining room; shouldn't be too hard to find. I serve my guests breakfast at nine, lunch at two, and dinner at eight. You're welcome to come to any meal you please."

"That sounds nice," Ginny said, smiling. "Thank you," she added once again, and Ms. Okal closed the door.

Now alone, Ginny glanced around her room. It was already lit, as if Ms. Okal had been expecting her precisely when she'd come, but the drapes were drawn, holding out sunlight. It made the place seem dusky, though cozy in a dark sort of way.

The bed was large, covered in a white duvet, with a wide wooden headboard, and one of her trunks sat at the foot of it. The walls were painted a bright purple, with gold fixtures and elegant blue candles placed in them. There was an armoire made of the same wood as the headboard, with her other trunk was placed beside. The wardrobe door had a full-length mirror on the back of it. There was a large, overstuffed gold chair beside the draped windows, and although Ginny didn't inspect the lavatory closely, it looked clean enough. At least she had her own.

_If this is one of the cheapest places in __Madrid__, she thought with a smirk_, I'd die to see one of the most expensive.__

She crossed over to the heavy scarlet curtains and peeled them back, letting real light from the sun spill in. She had a view of the street; they were in the midst of a Muggle road. Cars sped by, people dressed in Muggle attire strode on the pavements, and she noticed one shop was advertising electronic devices. 

With a sigh, Ginny sat down on her bed. 

So she'd made it to Madrid. That was the incredibly easy part. Now, she would have to find some way to hunt down Draco Malfoy. And then she would have to approach him.

She inhaled deeply, and then stood up to rummage through one of her trunks for her parchments. It was time to get to work.

* * *

She drifted off. Around one thirty she awoke with a jolt, a blank parchment in her lap and a quill held loosely in her hand. Swearing, she rubbed the sleep out of her face and sat up. She'd wanted to outline a plan to find Draco, but now nearly six hours had passed and she had nothing to show for it.

Annoyed with herself, and her job, she hurried over to the window. The sun was stronger now, and the automobile and pedestrian traffic had slowed some, but being that it was lunchtime and most Muggles were out of work for a bit, it was still considerable. Her mind blank, she watched the people hurry by.

_Damn it, Ginny, think! _she thought ardently. Spinning away from the window, she paced her room.

Okay. First things first. Would Malfoy have an alias in this city? None of the information she'd gotten had said he'd ever changed his name, but it was entirely possible he could've done so now for extra precaution. If he had, then it would make him even more difficult to find.

She knew he had previously lived as a Muggle. The information had given her that much. But that didn't guarantee that he would still be living as such. Maybe he had moved into a wizarding home to outsmart the Ministry. To catch them off-guard. He had been intelligent enough to escape them eleven times; he would be clever enough to anticipate what they would expect of him, and do differently. 

So all she had to do was anticipate what he figured the Ministry expected of him. To think as he did.

She snorted, and spun around to face her reflection in the full-length mirror. "This is going to be simple," she snarled at herself. "I have to figure out the mind of someone I haven't seen in five years. And I didn't even understand his mind back then."

No problem.

She resumed pacing again, afraid she might drop off to sleep once more if she sat down. Well, there really was only one thing she _could_ do to find Malfoy. She would have to ask around. 

The idea was risky. She would have to go to both wizarding and Muggle places, and ask various people if they had seen him. She could show other wizards photographs, yet she would have to describe him to Muggles as she had no stationary photographs. But either way, it was entirely possible whoever she asked would mention her to Draco. He would know for certain someone in the Ministry was after him, and would leave the city in the blink of an eye.

_Well then_, she thought briskly, _I'll have to practice my Memory Charms, won't I?_

Thrilled that she had a somewhat plausible plan, she decided to go downstairs and see if Ms. Okal's cooking was any good. Lunch would be served in ten minutes.

As Ms. Okal had said, the dining area was easy to find. It was as charming as the rest of the inn. There was a long, darkly polished wood table that could, at the moment, seat ten. Ginny suspected that it could be elongated by magic if the inn was unusually crowded with guests. A slight, though impressive, crystal chandelier floated near the ceiling, unchained, with thick, lit candles the color of those in Ginny's room. The walls were wallpapered in a gold and red striped pattern, and the carpet was colored a simple off-white cream. There was a sideboard made of the same wood as the table that held a beautiful flower arrangement. There was another pot of flowers - white and pink roses, Ginny noticed with a smile - in the middle of the dining table. 

She seemed to be the first to arrive. Glancing at her watch, she saw it was five until one; perhaps she'd misheard Ms. Okal when she'd said the time for lunch? There wasn't any sign or scent of food.

But then Ms. Okal came bustling in from the doorway beside the sideboard. Behind her hovered a white porcelain bowl with a lid. She spotted Ginny and smiled.

"Oh, hello, Ms. Weasley," she said brightly. "I expect you've settled in well?" She flicked her wand gently and the bowl drifted softly to the table with barely a clatter. Another flick and the pot of roses had landed beside the other arrangement on the sideboard.

"I did, thank you," Ginny replied. "The room is lovely."

"It is," she agreed, her smile still beaming. "Well, I've made some vegetable soup for lunch; you'd be surprising how filling it is. If you want something else, then you're more than welcome to prepare it for yourself in the kitchen. This is an inn, not a restaurant," she added, though she said it kind-heartedly. "Please, help yourself, and I'll be back with some bread and butter and pitchers of water and pumpkin juice."

"Thank you, I'm sure the soup will satisfy me just fine," Ginny said graciously, and took a seat in the middle of the table. 

Ms. Okal went back into the kitchen, and Ginny glanced around. Would she be the only one eating? It was kind of unnerving to eat at such a big table alone. 

Ginny was just beginning to wonder where the bowls and utensils were when suddenly, ten blue-and-white China patterned bowls appeared at every seat. With them came a white napkin and a spoon, fork, and knife.

She lifted the lid off the large bowl of soup and was serving herself when three other people came into the room. Quickly, so as she didn't seem as though she were staring, she studied them. 

One was a short woman, looking a bit older than Ginny, but nearly a head shorter, with dark blonde hair. Her eyes were a clear, pale green, and her face was littered with freckles, as were her bare arms. They reminded Ginny of her childhood freckles (she still had some, but for the most part they'd faded). She was dressed in a large green T-shirt that hid her slight frame and a pair of jeans. 

Clinging to her hand was a little boy, about two or three years old. He had the woman's hair and freckles, but his eyes were bright, vivid blue. He wore a cute collared blue and white striped shirt and khaki trousers. At the moment, his lips were pushed into a pout.

The third was another woman, though she looked around fifty years old. She had greying brown hair, pulled back into a messy bun at the nape of her neck. A shapeless green dress hung somewhat pathetically around her skinny as a rail body. She reminded Ginny of a bird; her nose was long, her arms swung oddly at her sides, and she was thin as sin. 

"Oh, hello!" the blonde woman said vibrantly when she spotted Ginny. "You must've just arrived, have you? I haven't seen you here before. I'm Maili O'Sheldon, and this bump on a log is my son, Kevin."

Her voice had a strong Irish lilt, and she spoke fast. Ginny shook her outstretched hand replied, "Great to meet you. I'm Ginny Weasley." 

"Oh, I forgot, this old bat is my son's nanny, Shannon Andrews," Maili added, jerking her head back at the older woman who only scowled. 

Ginny thought it was rather rude to call her an old bat, but maybe they had a relationship she didn't understand. She smiled kindly at the three of them as they sat on the opposite side of the table. 

"Look, Kevin, darling, there's soup for lunch," Maili said to her son, clearly attempting to cheer him up. "Soup is fun to eat, isn't it? It's like eating water, except it has taste -"

"Mummy, I want to go to a toy store!" the boy howled. "I don't want to eat _water_."

"Kevin, how many times must I tell you I don't know of a toy store here that you'd like?" Maili asked, her voice hardening into that of discipline. "Now, won't you be a good boy and eat some lunch? Maybe then I'll ask around a bit and maybe we'll find a toy shop."

Kevin continued to pout, crossed his arms, and leaned back heavily in his chair.

"I'll take that as a yes," Maili grinned, winking at Ginny. 

Ms. Okal came back into the room, a basket of bread, a platter of butter, and two white decanters following her in. She greeted Maili, her son, and Shannon warmly and they exchanged pleasantries; how are you today? Was your night comfortable? Going to get some sightseeing in?

Ginny considered asking the trio if they knew of Draco Malfoy, but she dismissed the idea quickly. They couldn't possibly; they were just visiting here, and had only arrived two days before, according to their conversation with Ms. Okal. Besides, she wasn't keen on using a Memory Charm on the young boy, and couldn't do such to his mother in front of him. 

A few minutes later, another guest strolled in. It was a man, well past fifty, with snowy white hair and a stomach so round it seemed as if he'd swallowed about two and a half watermelons. He walked - rather, waddled - to the table and took a place beside Ginny. He said hello to Maili and her nanny, used their names to prove they'd met before, and then spotted Ginny, noticing she was a newcomer.

"I am Nathaniel Marksmon," he said in a rather pompous voice; he seemed to be looking down his nose at her. "And you are?"

"Ginny Weasley," Maili piped up before Ginny could open her mouth. "Got a strong, sturdy Irish look about her; she can't be too bad, eh?"

"Hmm. Quite," Nathaniel agreed absently, helping himself to some soup. "I see our, ah, American friend isn't down yet."

"Oh, you know her," Maili said cheerfully. "Always a bit late."

"More like only coming at her convenience," Nathaniel scoffed. He turned his expression into that of utter seriousness. "Did you know . . . I saw her returning to her room this morning. And she had a _man_ with her."

"Well, God forbid," Maili cried, pressing a hand to her heart. "Can't have a woman take a _man, now could we?"_

Ginny listened with amusement, deciding that she liked Maili, disliked Nathaniel. He rather reminded her of her brother Percy, except somehow worse. Maybe because she loved Percy and could tolerate him . . . at times. She ate her soup as quietly as Shannon the nanny did, but paid attention just as intently.

"But in the morning!" Nathaniel exclaimed. "What kind of . . . of whore brings a man into a respectable inn -"

"_Mister_ Marksmon," Maili interrupted, her friendly tone going frigid. "I would ask you not to use such language in front of my son. He does not need to hear it."

"_Mummy!" Kevin wailed on cue. "I want a new _toy_! I want a new __broomstick -"_

Maili laughed, her eyes warming as she turned them on her son. "You must certainly are not getting a new broomstick," she told him firmly, ruffling his soft blonde hair. "The one you have is perfectly fine. . . ."

Ms. Okal came out to save the day with a rather large piece of chocolate cake. "Here you are, poppet," she said to Kevin, setting it in front of him. "But you must stop whining at your mummy, you hear?"

A smile spread across Kevin's face, making him look so adorable Ginny ached for a child of her own. The feeling past quickly, however, when she suddenly remembered the tremendous task ahead of her.

Ginny finished the last of her soup as Maili chatted cordially with Ms. Okal. She had an abrupt urge to ask Maili if she, Kevin, and even Shannon would like to tour the city with her. 

_No_, she decided, _I don't have time to socialize._

Later, once she'd successfully hunted Malfoy down, maybe she would attempt to be friends with the Irish blonde. But for now, she had work to do.

A lot of work.

* * *

**Note:** _Amistoso__ means "friendly" in Spanish. According to my handy-dandy little translator:              _

http:// babelfish. ional chapter. Lack of action, blah blah blah. It gets slightly better next chapter, because Ginny sees Malfoy, and learns how to corner him. Plus we'll meet our American stripper.

Join my and Emma's yahoo group: If you want updates, then that's the best place to receive them. If not, then email me: mochabutterfly22@yahoo.com to get updates. 

Thanks to the reviewers, I love you all!

**Fantasiimaker** (whee, first reviewer. Thanks!), **Nobodysbitch** (thank you! Yes, for some reason, Blaise strikes me as female. Dunno why), **naturallyartificial (I'll try to keep it up! Hee, thanks), ****FlavOftheweek (yeah, sure took me long enough to come up with a new one, hmm? And thank you!), ****Lolita (yes, I have a new story, I really hope I'll finish it ;)), **Miss Auburn** (sure thing!), ****Luinthoron (hey, great to see your review again! Odd that I remember you, eh? Anyway, thanks!), **myStiCaLYia** (why thank you! Yes, they know, evil little Pansy planned it all; hmm, I seem to like Pansy, actually . . .), ****Crystal (heyo back! Hope I didn't make you wait too long), **tiggergirl1306** (*evil cackle* No, I didn't die. I'm too alive for my own good…um, yeah), **wikatcha** (I'm glad I'm back too. I think I'm too scared to leave the D/G area. I will eventually, but for now, familiarity is comfort), ****MelissaAdams (I'm flattered, muchos flattered. Thanks!), ****kneh13 (yes, I thought it sounded rather cool meself. I hope it turns out good), ****bratgirl (your first? Girl, get your fanny out there and read lots more! There are so many good ones!), ****Wizzabee (well, glad to amuse you), **TrinitYMalfoY527** (sigh, I know, I'm young. Ish. And thanks! I'm rather flattered you would go through so much just to guard my review…for that I gave you two ;)), ****Anaxandra**** (whee, I'm glad I have a new fic, too. Precisely, career vs love…it'll be great. Thanks!), **Monica** (thank you!), **Silindro** (*smacks self* I know I didn't tell you. I guess I'm modest when it comes to plugging in my fics. Yes, desk sex sounds like lots of fun. Maybe it'll happen . . . *plot bunnies attack*), ****Elaine (haha, yes, reading the first chapter definitely will help you with the rest), ****dragongirlG (why thank you), ****TomFeltons4ever (I'm rather eager to see where it goes as well), ****waterfairy**-rose** (Yes, I loff Ginny. Hee, thanks), **lightning bug** (the relationship that was mentioned? Nah, all I really meant by it was that they fought all the time, so by thinking that they got along, the Ministry was wrong in their assumption that she had an advantage…follow me? Sigh, I get confusing sometimes), **!****ncendio** (Thank you! I'll be 16 soon…), **Sakura1287** (Thanks! I try to make them character…ized and such), **timmy** (hey, sorry about that. I might get inspiration and go back and repost those two. Hope you enjoy this one!), **Prongs** (nah, not a year! Just a few months…okay, over 6 months. Wow, it's been ten months. Almost a year. Hmm, anyway, thanks!), ****Emily (thank you much!), **Bulma****** Greenleaf (thanks!), ****Brooke Kenobi (well, I try ;)), ****The Ginneh (thank you!).**

From CFFW yahoo group: **Adrienne** (thanks, I tried to make Ginny based on her newfound spine in book 5. And I'll make the relationship work out, never fret)

Wow, I can't believe how fun it was to go through and thank everyone individually. I've missed it!

If you review, I promise you'll get your own little thank you as well. 

And I'm off for now . . .


	3. Mission Malfoy: Part I

**A/N**: This chapter decided it wanted to be shorter. I swear, my stories take on a life of their own. I have no control.

I introduce the American character in this chapter, so I'd just like to clear something up. I'm very, very, very American never having left the freaking country for even a vacation. As someone expressed the worry in their review, I won't stereotype this new character. At the end I'll explain a bit more about her, but for now just try and have fun reading it.

Also, the job of a Hit Witch might've come off unclear. I'll copy the definition from The Harry Potter Lexicon that I used for my story: **The Department of Magical Law Enforcement maintains squads of trained Hit Wizards whose job it is to capture dangerous Wizard criminals. A group of these Hit Wizards captured Sirius Black after he supposedly killed Peter Pettigrew. The Hit Wizards are not the same as Aurors. Hit Wizards, it would seem, are sent primarily against criminals while Aurors track down and capture Dark Wizards.** Hope that clears things up.

This will be my last update before I start school. Already there have been a couple of weeks in between updates, and it might be longer now that my life is being picked back up. To make things even more hectic, I now march in marching band, so that'll take up a significant amount of my time. I'll try to update as rapidly as humanly possible, but if there is a wait, you'll know why.

Anywho. I'm done rambling.

Wild thanks to** Elaine**, who just about rewrote the first scene to fix my blatant American…ness. More wild thanks to **Karla**, who beta'd my Spanish and made sure I don't come off like a wannabe bilingual freak. Yet even more wild thanks to **Tia**, who is the greatest English beta ever.

**Disclaimer:** Borrowed mostly from JK Rowling. bows down

**Chapter Three**

**_Mission_****_ Malfoy: Part I_**

"Pansy." Blaise's voice was low, and as cold as ice. "It's a Muggle party."

Draco and Blaise were in Pansy's plush flat, sitting in her room. It was decorated in deep purples, reds, and blues. All the girlish colors were making Draco dizzy.

Blaise was stretched out on the bed, his head propped up by three fluffy and lacy blue pillows. Draco was seated stiffly on a purple chaise. He always felt out of place when he was in Pansy's bedroom. Probably because he clashed with all the colors.

Pansy was bent over, rummaging through her endless array of clothes in her huge wardrobe. She was merely wearing a black, lacy bra and matching underpants - very slight underpants - but Draco was too used to seeing her half-naked to be effected. He had no sexual attraction to Pansy at all. He'd gotten that out of his system a long time ago. "I'm aware that it's a Muggle party, Blaise," she hummed silkily.

"So why the bloody hell are you going?" Blaise demanded sharply. He looked absolutely silly, lying in the sea of red blankets and blue pillows. Draco opened his mouth to make fun of him when Pansy spoke first.

"Correction, Blaise, love," she said, glancing up to flash a dazzling smile at them. "_We_, are going, not _me_," she declared.

Blaise snorted in disbelief, and Draco said evenly, "I would love to go, Pansy, but I have what my psychiatrist calls 'a mad, twisted, evil, flaming hatred for all things Muggle'."

Pansy shot him a frustrated look. "Don't be such a wanker, Draco. You don't go to a psychiatrist."

"Thanks, I didn't know," he replied smoothly, his face blank.

"You two are coming with me," she said, turning to face the wardrobe once more, "because I need moral support."

"We'll give moral support," Blaise told her, "before you leave and when you come back. Over my cold, dead body will you get me to go to that party."

"Oh, my darling, that can be arranged," Pansy called coolly.

Blaise glowered severely. "What do you need moral support for?" he snapped. "Why the hell do you even _want_ to go?"

"I have a date," she said simply.

"Oh. I'm all for it then," Draco told Blaise, who smirked in response.

Pansy pulled out a short red dress and pressed it against her front. "What do you think?" she asked, frowning down at herself. "Too . . . vivid?"

They both stared at her. She was asking them for clothes advice?

"You two," she pointed in turn, disgusted, "need a woman." She threw the dress back into the wardrobe carelessly.

"I'm still not understanding you, Pansy," said Blaise lazily, tilting his head back and looking at the ceiling. "You want us to come to a Muggle party, where we'll be tempted to harm everyone in the vicinity, just because you have a date?"

"_If_ you would stop complaining so much," she said loudly, annoyed, "maybe I could finish."

"Then finish," Draco snapped.

"I will when I'm damn well ready," she replied tartly.

They waited a couple of seconds as she continued to look through her clothes. She removed another dress, this one longer and peacock blue, and held it against herself once more.

"Too vivid," Draco informed her with an arrogant grin.

"Fuck you," she said briskly. S he heaved the dress back into the wardrobe and crossed the room, collapsing into a chair with an exasperated sigh. "Hmm, where was I? Oh yes, my date. If you two goons would think for a minute, you would remember that I've never done something without a good reason. You would also find that I have, on many occasions, expressed my strong dislike towards Muggles, just as strong your lot's is."

"So why are you so eager to go to this goddamn party and drag us with you?" Blaise snarled.

She gave him a very forced smile. "Let me finish?" she asked with a voice so sweet it was venomous.

"Of course." Blaise dropped his head back and raised his eyes to the ceiling once more.

"Thank you, darling," she said with the same tone. Then she went on more firmly, "I am going to this party for a good reason. And that reason overrides my ill feelings towards Muggles. In fact, once I tell you who my date is, you will most certainly be rushing out to purchase a Muggle tuxedo for tomorrow night."

Draco began to realize what she was saying. She had a date with someone vital to The Plan. But if that was so, then why the hell were they going to a _Muggle_ party? Wouldn't her date be a wizard?

Blaise lifted his head. "Who's your date?" he pressed impatiently.

"Tannar," she said with a proud smile. "Gaius Tannar."

Blaise shot up into a sitting position on the bed. Draco blinked. Gaius Tannar . . . the man bloody _owned_ Azkaban prison. He _designed_ the damn place. How had Pansy gotten a date with him?

"I'm expecting praise any minute now," she sang, inspecting her nails demurely.

"If I was the type, I would be kissing your feet," Blaise muttered, in shock. "But as it is, I'll just say that you're a god - damn - _genius_."

She beamed, and glanced at Draco. "Your turn."

"Incredible, Pansy," he said, honestly.

"It's tough being brilliant," she sighed, looking up at the ceiling and twirling a curl on her finger. "But I manage."

"Wait, wait, wait," Blaise said suddenly, holding up a hand. "If you want Draco and me to come, won't Tannar recognize Draco?"

Pansy shrugged her bare shoulders. "Perhaps. But you forget there's nothing he can do about it. The Ministry is already after him." She grinned wickedly. "He won't have authority to do anything. Plus, he's never seen Draco before. He might not even know who he is at all."

"Why is he going to a Muggle party?" Draco inquired suspiciously.

"His wife's a Muggle," Pansy said darkly, her face falling. "Goddamn bitch," she muttered sourly under her breath.

Blaise gave another snort. "If his wife's there, then how are you his date?" he shot at her.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "I used the term 'date' loosely. I merely meant I knew where he was going, and how I could, ah, catch his attention. I hear his wife's an old hag," she added sadistically. "Doesn't know magic, so can't make herself look decent. I can drag him away from his homely little woman, and . . . you know. Get information.

"We won't need to go through the trouble of stealing Azkaban documents to learn the layout of the prison," she went on. "I'll just use a Truth Potion on him, milk him for some information, and then _Obliviate_ his arse. Save us a lot of time. And effort."

"So explain to me why you want Draco and me to go," Blaise stated.

Her countenance changed. She gave a thrilled grin. "I refuse," she said delicately, "to suffer through an evening with Muggles alone. You two are there, as I said, to give me moral support."

"By suffering with you?" Blaise snapped.

Her smile was now smug. "Precisely."

* * *

_Sunday, 9 March, 2003_

**Obstacle Number One: Location**

_If I was Draco Malfoy_, Ginny thought, standing in the middle of the pavement as Muggles hurried by her, _where would I shop_?

All she could think was that she certainly _wasn't _Draco, and she had trouble bringing up the image of him actually shopping. Probably had his clothes fitted especially for him, in the privacy of his own home. Had his groceries brought to his place. Never ate out for fear of unsanitary or unsavory cooking.

He probably was a complete bore.

Right. She'd seen many photographs of him, out and about. There had only been a few pictures taken of him inside somewhere. He seemed to have a fondness for walking around the city, most likely shopping. Where, though, she didn't know. She had just spent a half hour studying every photograph of him she had, and didn't see any shop names or recognize any streets.

"Well," she whispered to herself with a sigh, "I might as well start asking about him in the richer part of the neighborhood."

Not knowing where to start but being in a hurry, she decided would begin with the Muggle world. In hindsight this probably wasn't wisest; Madrid was a Muggle city, and therefore the Muggle area would be a lot bigger than the wizarding one. It would be easier to start out small, and then, if she didn't get any leads, head on to the larger world.

But it wouldn't hurt to take one day to search the Muggle world for news of Draco. Besides, she was quite eager to see the city in pure Muggle glory.

Ginny stumbled across a touristy shop, mostly by luck. She went inside and bought a map. It was with the cash clerk that she ran into the first major problem; language.

In her pocketbook she had a Spanish-English dictionary. It was, unfortunately, a Muggle one; a wizarding one would've been so much more convenient. If she had been able to use magic, then all she would've had to do was tap the wizarding dictionary and the words she wanted to say would've appeared.

But as she was in the Muggle world, she could only use a Muggle dictionary, and she would have to work with it. Flipping word by word she searched for what she needed.

As she took it out, trying to find every word the clerk said, the line behind her grew. People began to moan and groan, unsubtly hinting in all sorts of languages that she should just pay and leave. Finally, she threw down a single Euro note with the number 5 printed on it, hoped she didn't overly pay the man, snatched her map, and left. Not before, however, snapping a rude phrase at the queue of Spaniards behind her. She forgot, of course, that it was a tourist shop, and a good deal of people could understand English. Ignoring the gasps and "Well I never!"s she received, she stormed out.

Well, she had a map. But what good did it do her? It didn't point out, _Here__ is an expensive neighborhood; search here! _

_A decent wizarding map would've, _she thought moodily. She began to think that Muggles weren't so great after all. She shoved the map into her overly large pocketbook that she'd come to find has hideously ugly. First chance she got she was buying a newer, sleeker one.

For the next half hour, Ginny wandered the streets of Madrid. The day was hot; who would've imagined it would be so warm so early in March? Within minutes of leaving the shop she was wiping sweat off her forehead, wishing she'd worn shorts instead of jeans.

Yet she walked on, despite her discomfort, keeping her eyes open. At any sign of fancy-looking shops, she would stop. So far, the shops remained small and quaint; clean, but not anything extravagant.

In her quest, she didn't take in the city nearly as much as she had wanted. _That might work to my advantage_, she mused. It would make a great date to have Draco show her all the tourist places to visit.

When she was about to turn around, head back to her inn, and ask Ms. Okal for help, she just happened to notice a boutique across the street. Its wide window provided her a view of upscale women's clothing.

_Bingo_, she thought, grinning.

She glanced all around, seeing that it wasn't exactly a rich street. In fact, the only thing that looked a bit out of the ordinary was the women's shop. And there wasn't any way Draco had ever gone shopping in a woman's clothing shop.

With a frustrated sigh, she trudged on.

After a few more minutes of walking, she decided she'd just go into any shop that seemed like a man would shop in. Who the hell cared if she would use all her energy doing Memory Charm after Memory Charm. She'd lose vigour much more quickly if she kept walking the entire goddamned city.

She stepped into the first place she saw, a pub. Its name was scrawled in Spanish, but when Ginny entered she saw it was decorated in Irish themes. She immediately thought of Maili and smiled to herself.

It wasn't crowded, but it was rather smoky. A few people sat at the bar, a few more scattered at various tables in the room. Cigarette and cigar smoke swirled together, clogging Ginny's lungs. She'd always detested tobacco smoke.

A few men glanced at her admiringly when she walked in. She ignored them pointedly and began to wonder how she could get the bartender alone, to ask him if he'd ever seen Malfoy, and then perform the Memory Charm without being seen. However, she couldn't think of any excuse to speak with the bartender privately, so she just sat in the first empty chair at the bar and planned to mull it over in her head.

The bartender moved to her part of the bar. He asked her something in Spanish; she assumed he wanted to know what she wanted to drink.

"I'll have a water, please," she said, before remembering he didn't speak English.

"Eh?" he asked, and she rummaged through her pocketbook to find her Spanish-English dictionary.

"Agua para ella, una cerveza para mí," a sleek voice said from behind her.

Surprised, Ginny twisted her head to see a tall, beautiful woman slid into the seat beside her. The bartender nodded and hurried off.

"Er . . . thanks," Ginny told her. "What did you tell him?"

The woman had a long mane of perfectly tousled black hair, falling down her back. Her skin was the color of bronze, and she wore the tiniest pair of shorts Ginny had ever seen. Her top was a white sleeveless shirt, and it was evident she wore no bra. When she turned her face to Ginny's, she saw that her eyes were shockingly gold - amber, rather. After a moment Ginny realized they were contacts.

"I told him you wanted to have sex with him, and that if he paid us a few American thousand, I would join in," the woman replied smoothly, the American accent clearly audible.

Ginny managed to laugh through her surprise. "Sounds reasonable," she said.

"No," the American said breezily. "I wouldn't settle for less than a million; that guy must have every disease known to mankind, and some that probably haven't been discovered yet."

Ginny laughed again, this time without having to force it. The bartender did look rather greasy and . . . disgusting.

"I know you," the woman said suddenly, and Ginny met her eyes. Her disturbing eyes. "You're staying at my hotel."

Ginny couldn't recall seeing her, but then she remembered Nathaniel Marksmon and his complaints about the American woman and her _man_. "Inn," she corrected mildly as their drinks were slid in front of them. Her water as ordered. She took a dainty sip of her water as the American chugged nearly half the glass of her beer in one gulp.

"Yeah, that's what I meant," she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. She belched unbecomingly.

"I don't recall seeing you," Ginny told her, trying not to wrinkle her nose.

"I was walking by the dining room earlier this afternoon," she answered, fixing Ginny with her golden gaze. "Glanced in, caught sight of your red hair. I guess it stuck out in my mind."

"I'm, er, Ginny," Ginny said, offering her hand. "Ginny Weasley."

"Hey, Ginny," she replied, shaking it. "I'm Penelope Harriston."

"Nice to meet you," Ginny said, though she wondered if it _was_ nice. The woman was social enough, but Ginny felt rather intimidated by her.

Unattractive.

Boyish.

Pale.

Still. Her personality was interesting.

Penelope finished her beer in two more sips and signaled for another one. "So you work for the British Ministry - a Hit Witch, huh?" she asked as the disease-infected bartender took her glass away to refill it.

Ginny sputtered on her water, spitting it back into her cup. "What?"

Penelope smirked at her. "I guess I'm what you call nosy," she said. "Yesterday Addy Okal left a bunch of parchments out on her desk in the lobby. I read some. One was a letter from someone saying a Ginny Weasley was coming here to search for some fugitive."

Ginny struggled to find the right words. It made her angry that the woman had snooped through Ms. Okal's personal belongings as if she had a right to. And then to actually tell Ginny about it? What _nerve_. "I would think you're what I would call a nosy _bitch_," she said icily, taking a bigger drink from her water. "You had absolutely no right to read Ms. Okal's parchments. It's both an infringement on her privacy _and_ mine."

"Infringement?" Penelope looked amused. She sipped a smaller amount of her newly filled glass, her golden eyes dancing as she studied Ginny. Ginny determinedly looked forward, avoiding her stare. "Well, I'm sorry I _infringed_. But I did, so pouting and ignoring me won't change it."

"Excuse me." Ginny's tone was short and clipped. She slapped down a few Euro bills on the bar and then stood up. "It was great meeting you, Penelope, but I have work to do. You know, catching the _fugitive_ and that sort of thing."

Penelope laughed as Ginny headed out. "My room is two thirty five. Come by sometime; we'll do lunch."

Weird thing to say. Ginny had no intent of doing _anything_ with her. All she could do was hope that Penelope wouldn't find some way to mess up Ginny's job.

Ginny stomped around a bit, working up a reasonable sweat. When she finally stopped sulking, she remembered that she had a mission to accomplish. She looked around and saw she was standing beside a men's clothing shop.

_Convenient_, she thought, feeling better about this place than the pub. She would certainly be able to corner a salesperson and use a Memory Charm on them in a place away from prying eyes, if she had to.

Trying to shove her bad mood out of the way, she opened the door and stepped inside the cool shop. A bell rang somewhere, and a salesman hurried up to her.

He eyed her somewhat suspiciously, then said something in Spanish.

"Damn it," Ginny swore, and fumbled through her purse. "I can't . . . I don't know Spanish. . . ."

"No problem, señorita," the man said, looking a bit miffed at her mild curse. "I speak English."

"Oh, thank God," she said, dropping her purse to her side.

"May I help you with something? Shopping for a husband, brother, father? As you can see, we have the spring's newest fashions -" the man began, as if it was rehearsed.

"No, I just have a couple of questions to ask you," Ginny interrupted.

He raised his eyebrows, now looking slightly worried. "Oh? Are you policía?"

Ginny stared for a moment, unsure what he meant. It then registered that he meant policewoman, and she recalled that Muggles had police forces to protect them. "No, no I'm not," she said, her gaze shifting by the salesman to scan the shop. "I was just wondering if you'd seen a certain man shop here. He's about this height," she made a gesture a few centimeters above her head, "and of medium build. He has very pale, blonde hair and. . . ."

She stopped from absolute shock. Her eyes rested on a man in the back of the shop.

Draco Malfoy.

He was standing so she had a view of his profile, but it was very obviously him. He hadn't seen her; he was too busy pinching the trousers of a tuxedo on a mannequin. The trademark Malfoy smirk was slashed across his undeniably attractive face and he looked completely amused with whatever situation he was in.

"And never mind!" she yelped spinning and bolting out of the shop. Heart thudding, she tried to gather her scattered thoughts as she pressed her back to the shop window.

_Think, Weasley, think_, she told herself frantically. Talk about pure, dumb _luck_. She hadn't just found somewhere he shopped; she'd found the man himself.

She hadn't expected to actually _see_ him, so therefore she hadn't prepared herself for an encounter. She'd only thought she would search around and ask if he had been seen. But there he was, real as life, standing inside the shop.

Gathering a bit of courage, she turned and glanced in the window. He was still on the opposite side of the shop, and Ginny noticed there was a salesman and another man standing with him, and the salesman was speaking to him.

"Ahh," she mumbled, and wondered if she should approach him.

_No._ The answer came swiftly and certainly. She didn't want to speak with him until she had a rehearsed plan. If she went up to him now and improvised a conversation, there was a strong chance she would drop hints - without meaning to - that she worked for the Ministry.

First, she decided, she would need to stake him out a bit, maybe spy on him. She got a brief idea, and turned to face the sidewalk once again.

Her eyes scanned the crowd quickly. She needed a scarf . . . God, didn't anyone carry a scarf? . . . it was only hotter than hell outside. . . .

Aha. Ginny spotted a woman strolling by, a multi-colored piece of cloth tied around her waist. It wasn't being worn as a scarf, but it would work.

Ginny pulled out her wand, kept it in the close shelter of her body. "_Accio_ scarf," she murmured, pointing at the lady's waist.

It untied, and Ginny hurried to come up beside the woman. She just barely made it as the scarf floated the first few centimeters into her hand. The woman walked on, noticing nothing, and no one had seen it float at all. Perfect.

She returned to the shop's window, peeking in again. She didn't see Malfoy in the back anymore, but he neither had he come out; he had to be trying on a suit or something. Quickly, she wrapped the scarf over her conspicuous Weasley hair and knotted it under her chin.

She studied her obscure reflection in the glass. Well. The scarf was so vibrant it seemed it would attract more attention than her own hair. But there wasn't a chance that Malfoy would recognize the scarf. As long as he didn't get a clear look at her face (and even if he did, maybe he wouldn't even know it was her), she would be fine.

Ginny took a deep breath to steady herself, and then went back into the shop. The same salesman as before stepped up to her, now not even bothering to look polite at all. He frowned at her.

"Señorita, is there anything I can help you with? Are you here to buy something or -"

"I want to have a look around," she said frigidly, hoping to sound like a rich, spoiled woman. "Now go away until I call you again. Go on." She waved her hand to shoo him off.

She caught the glare he threw at her before he went on to help another customer. She ignored it, already craning her neck to see over the racks of sports coats and dressy trousers to spot a blonde head.

There were some three other customers shopping, but none of them proved to be Malfoy. Ginny crept towards the back, trying to be inconspicuous while being careful not to flash her face about at the same time. There was a wide doorway in the back wall that led to the changing rooms. She pressed against the wall beside the opening as casually as she could, trying to angle her head so she could see any comings and goings from the changing rooms while keeping the scarf in place to obscure her features.

She heard voices from the changing rooms, immediately identifying Malfoy's.

"I look ridiculous," came his familiar drawl, scarcely unchanged in five years except for its depth. "How did we let her talk us into this goddamn party again?"

"Oh but Draco, you don't look ridiculous," said a voice that Ginny wasn't common with. At the moment, the man was clearly trying to imitate a female tone. "You look ever so handsome." There was no response from Draco, though the unknown man laughed. "You don't look better than I did, though," he continued, his voice leveling out into something more manly. "I look better in black than you."

"Bollocks you do," Draco replied sharply.

"You look like a fucking corpse," the man said indignantly. "Ever think of going out in the sun, you vampire?"

"I can still hit you. I'm not afraid to spill blood on clothes that aren't mine."

"I'm about to piss myself I'm so frightened," the man shot back snidely. "So is this the one you're going to get or what? I want to get out of here. I might go on a Muggle-torturing spree at any moment. They're unpredictable, you know, my sprees."

Ginny wasn't quite sure if that was a joke or not. She sincerely hoped it was. Who was this man, anyway?

"Yeah," grumbled Malfoy. "I'll get this one."

"You make a great Muggle, Draco; you'll blend in perfectly tomorrow," the man smirked, and chuckled coldly at his own wit.

Ginny heard their approaching footfalls, and leapt away from the wall. She strolled into one of the aisles of racks, pretending to check the price on a pair of trousers. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the two figures move towards the middle of the shop. Once their backs were to her, she turned her face completely to see them. The blonde wearing the tuxedo was evidently Draco. The other had midnight black hair and wore a pair of black trousers and a white T-shirt. Ginny still couldn't recognize him; though she knew he was British, she most likely didn't know him.

The two of them were speaking to their salesman, and Malfoy would be returning to the changing room soon to get out of his new tuxedo. It was time for Ginny to go; she'd heard all she needed.

They - or Draco, anyway - were going to a party the next day. She could either follow the pair of them around all day, or she could wait until they left and ask their salesman what party they were attending. Since they would probably notice a lady wearing a brightly colored scarf following them around for the remainder of the evening, she decided on the latter.

She had her face buried in her useless map when the two men came out. She glanced up and caught a glimpse of the dark-haired man's features, and a flash of familiarity ran through her mind. So she _did_ know him. She couldn't figure out from where she knew him, but at the moment it didn't matter. She'd probably see him at the party tomorrow and could ponder it more in depth; if she managed to find out where the party was, that is.

Ginny waited until they had disappeared down the street before she went back into the menswear shop. She spotted Malfoy's salesman and approached him. She kept her scarf on, just in case.

"Hi," she told him, seeing he was with a customer and not caring. "I need to ask you a favor."

He shot her a stiff smile. "Excuse me, señorita," he said, and she was too eager to learn information to be thankful he spoke her language. "I am with a customer. . . ."

"Yes, that's great," Ginny said hurriedly. "So, Mister . . ." She glanced at his nametag, "Humberto, I need you to tell me what party those two gentlemen you were serving a few minutes ago are going to tomorrow night."

Humberto's smile turned even stiffer. "Señorita," he said haughtily, "I wouldn't tell you that even if I did know it. You are being rude; if you have a question about anything in the shop, I will be glad to assist you in a moment. If not, then feel free to leave, por favor."

She could see she would have to bribe him. Well, no matter. She would get the money back.

"Okay, Mr. Humberto," she said, getting angry once more. She reached into her purse and pulled out her roll of Euro currency. "I give you this, you tell me what party. Comprende?"

Humberto eyed the money coolly, then plucked it from her hands to count. He got through only a few bills before he met her eyes and replied, "La fiesta esos dos hombres van a asistir está al Westin Palace Hotel_. ¿Comprende Usted?_" he finished with what looked like an awfully ugly sneer.

Ginny was irritated that he'd used Spanish, but she did know what _fiesta_ meant, and the Westin Palace Hotel was English enough. She got the gist of it. "Thank you," she told him through clenched teeth, then added, "_Merci_."

Just to brass Humberto off.

She started to exit the shop, but watched over her shoulder as Humberto pocketed her food money. She wouldn't need it for actual food; she could eat at the hotel for free. But she wanted her spending money, and wasn't about to let poorly-English-speaking Humberto have it all.

At the door, she brought out her wand and whispered, "_Accio_ money."

Fortunately, no one noticed the roll of money that flew into Ginny's waiting hands. Humberto didn't feel anything lift from his pocket.

And hopefully no security cameras were focused on her at that time.

Ginny triumphantly placed her money back in her pocketbook, whipped off the scarf, and headed for the Amistoso Inn, thoughts of a hot bath and a warm dinner dancing in her head.

Tomorrow, she would shop for a dress. After all, she had a party to attend.

* * *

Later that evening, Ginny was in a large T-shirt and toweling her hair dry when someone knocked on her door. 

Thinking it would be a house-elf with more clean towels, she opened it willingly. But there stood Penelope Harriston, still wearing her revealing outfit and a conceited smile.

"Hey there," she said. "Can I come in?"

She didn't wait for an answer. She pushed past Ginny and strode into the room, taking it in. It was already slightly messy; Ginny wasn't the tidiest person, and rather liked clutter in her life.

"Damn, I got screwed," Penelope whistled. "This room is twice the size of mine."

"I don't mean to be rude," Ginny said somewhat coldly, "but I would prefer it if you left. I need to get dressed; I want to make it to dinner on time."

Penelope turned to face her, the dusk's weak sunlight spilling onto the floor behind her. "Well, I didn't come here to make you late. I just came to give you this." She held up a Euro note.

"What?" Ginny said blankly.

"You overpaid the bartender," Penelope informed her with a smirk. "By ten Euros. You were so pissed off with me you didn't see what you were thrusting on the table."

Ginny took the note, softening a bit. "Well, thank you." Then she became suspicious again, narrowing her eyes. "How'd you find my room?"

Penelope grinned widely at her, and was out the doorway in two strides of her endless legs. She paused and stood before Ginny, her gold eyes still startling her. "Remember, honey," she said smugly, "I'm a nosy bitch."

Then she was strolling down the hall, humming carelessly, and around a corner and out of sight.

Ginny, fighting the twitch in her face that was a smile, shut the door and curled the money in her palm. Her earlier frustrations at Penelope were beginning to fade. Then she remembered that the woman could completely botch this entire assignment and lose Ginny her job in the process. The frustrations returned in full force.

She pushed her feelings aside and tried to focus. After dinner, she planned on coming back into her room and thinking. A lot. She would stand, so she wouldn't fall asleep again. She needed to figure out a way to approach Malfoy at the part the next night.

She had an image of her all dressed up, slinking up to Malfoy casually and feigning cool surprise at seeing him. "Oh, hello, Mr. Malfoy," she would say. "Long time, hasn't it been?"

She laughed at that simple picture. "Slinky" and "cool" weren't exactly the words used to describe her. She was the most graceless, hotheaded person she knew.

Okay, so she couldn't be the chilling seductress. But she could catch his attention. And she could figure out a way to make him believe she A) didn't know of his death, and B) didn't work for the Ministry.

She could. But it would take a lot of thinking.

Stomach rumbling mercilessly, Ginny headed down for dinner.

**

* * *

**

**Translations**: What Penelope said to the bartender: "_Agua__ para ella, una cerveza para mí"_ means "**Water for her, a beer for me."**

What Humberto said to Ginny: _"La fiesta esos dos hombres van a asistir está al Westin Palace Hotel. __¿Comprende Usted?"_ means **"The party those two men are going to attend is at the Westin Palace Hotel. Do _you_ understand?"**

And _merci_ means, in French, **"thank you"** ;)

**A/N**: Not only did the length of this chapter decide itself, I think Penelope Harriston wrote herself. Originally I wanted to make her a cool, aloof, and rather mean girl, but she turned out kind of . . . outgoing. And if she sounds like she has the traits of a Mary Sue, I am here to tell you that _her purpose is not Mary-Sueism._ I promise. She's there for a reason, and it's not to be a pretty little American who can do magic without a wand and make everyone fall in love with her.

That clear, I'll move on.

Join my and Emma's yahoo group (link on author page) to receive updates and such.

Now, thank yous!

**Waterfairy****-rose** (haha unwanted homework, that's exactly what he is), **Sakura1287** (I'll be sure to check your fics out, definitely. Thanks for the review!), **fEEdLestEEx**, **Luinthoron** (ha thank you!), **TomFeltons4ever** (hee, don't we all want to know?), **xangelcrisisX** (yes, poor poor Ginny . . .), **Crystal14** (ooh, perfect timing on my part, no?), **Atherie** (haha sorry about that), **Nobodysbitch** (yeah, I agree, not enough Draco. But in the books it says he's rather short, so I decided to keep him on the short side), **silverarrows** (It completely depressed me too! Hope this will cheer you up), **kneh13** (thank you much), **Pii**** Rainwalker** (yep, she has her little dictionary with her. But she wanted to get right to work, so she didn't bother with sightseeing), **myStiCaLYia** (haha of course, they'll both fall head over heels for each other), **FlavOftheweek** (she and Maili will definitely have some bonding time, but not quite yet. Hope you had fun camping ;)), **Brooke Kenobi** (oh, I don't think I'll give up completely on D/G. I'm so comfortable with it I'd just feel lost without it. But I might just branch out and do something else, like a Hr/R or maybe a H/G. I certainly won't leave D/G though, so don't worry. Anyway, thanks!), **mz-duCkiee** (I'm American too, so I won't try to stereotype her too much. Hope you understand a Hit Witch now), **dragongirlG**(indeed, Maili has an important role. Dude, I cringe every time I think of The Brother Amulets, and I pray that my writing has improved since then, haha), **Allie29** (hey there Adriene. I'm rather excited about my original characters as well. Thanks much!), **MrsGeorgeWeasley** (thank you!), **S.e.a5** (thanks, characterization is normally the hardest thing for me to do, so I appreciate it!), **Laverne de Montmorency** (thanks!), **ncendio** (haha everyone seems to have been out of town. Thanks!), **Katzi** (you're welcome for the email. I know, poor Mrs. Weasley…oh well, she might be thankful that she has some time to herself now, haha), **twinsofthesky** (I had originally added some comment about Scandinavia being really random, but then I thought it might offend some people who might live there, or have lived there, or have relatives there, or whatever. So yeah, I agree, Scandinavia is really really odd, but it just seemed to fit to me. It doesn't have anything to do with the story, really, but oh well. Thanks for suck a great, long review!), **Fernanda** (Ginny is capable of anything! Bwahaha…yeah, anyway, thanks!), **lightning bug** (haha I thought everyone would call me stupid for saying Lerato, but people seemed to like it. It was the first Latin name I came upon when I was scanning, so I was like, 'Hey, that'd be funny' and put it in. Anyway, read my response to **twinsofthesky** if you want info on the whole Scandinavia bit. We all want to stalk Draco!), **Miss Auburn** (thank you very much!), **Bulma**** Greenleaf** (I don't understand how anyone can like long chapters, I like them rather short. But I appreciate it nonetheless, don't think I don't! Please don't send the Evil-Pink-Fluffy-Teddybears-of-Doom after me because I am utterly terrified of anything evil, pink, fluffy, and teddybear-ish. giggle), **frananddragon** (whoosh, great review! Glad you like AYNiL. Ha, fanfiction does pollute, I agree. Glad you liked the new characters, I'm quite fond of them myself strokes Kevin lovingly Thank you much!), **Lauren** (I – hate – computers beats computer viciously with pole Ahem, anyway, that sucks that you lost your first review, but this one made me happy, so don't worry. Sorry about the wait on this chapter, it's been craziness here for the past couple of weeks. I'm glad you like my characterization, that's one of the things that takes a bit of thinking on. I apologize for the little grammatical things; I haven't had a beta look at the first two chapters yet, so everything you see there is my fault. Anyway, thanks for the super long review!), **goldentwilight** (it took me _forever_ to think of this plotline, and I was afraid it would be kind of shadowed out by the creativity of AYNiL, but it's turning out pretty good. I'm having lots of fun with it, and that's all that counts, really. I could possibly have a fanfic gene, but it would be great if I had as much passion for my original work as I do for HP. Anywho, thanks for your review, it made my day!), **TheGirlWhoLived2** (haha, 2, that's pretty retarded. Hope you're having a great time on your holiday…in France…cries with absolute envy), **Sydney Lynne** (sorry about the confusion. Yes, eventually all the OC's will evolve into something that resembles…order. Haha, thanks for the happy review), **TrinitYMalfoY527** (my, thank you! Haha, the "thin as sin" quote wasn't really saying that it was a sin to be thin. I just meant that she was _really_ skinny. Whoa, I said it was the middle of the week on Friday? smacks self Wow, I can get pretty stupid sometimes. Maybe I'll get off my lazy ass and change it sometime, but thanks for pointing it out! You're review made me very very pleased, thank you!), **ChristyKay** (Haha, well, I'm not brainwashed, but I see Blaise as female as well. And of course I'll update _someday_ ;)), **Mia** (thank ya!).

From the Yahoo Group: **Blaise** (haha, glad you liked that part. I just went to Virginia, nowhere that interesting, but I had a good time. I would loooove to visit Texas again; I used to live there!)

You all have no idea how happy reviews make me. Thank you for taking time to tell me what you think. You all rock the cazba! clears throat Anyway.

Next chapter: They meet. They really really meet. And a very elegant party awaits you . . .


	4. Mission Malfoy: Part II

**A/N:** You know what I noticed? I use _a lot_ of semi-colons. Hmm, isn't that weird? Oh, and you know Monday-night-parties are the best. *throws random confetti* 

Great big thanks to Elaine for Britifying this chapter and to Karla for translating my pathetic Spanish. 

Warning: slightly un-beta'd chapter.

**Chapter Four**

**_Mission_****_ Malfoy: Part II_**

_Monday, 10 March, 2003___

**Obstacle Number Two: _Shopping_**

****

The next day's shopping fling got off to a bad start. Store nzmero uno was the worst. They had an English speaking saleswomen, but she appeared to have gone off on break; at least, that's what the Spanish-English dictionary informed Ginny the other clerks had said. Ginny had to wait twenty minutes for her return, looking at the dresses on her own and realizing she didn't know what sort of dress she was trying to find.

When the woman finally came back, she had eyed Ginny rather coldly and superciliously, as if hinting boldly that she didn't belong in the store. Ginny recalled the same look from the salesman the previous day, and wondered what it was about her that cried, _I'm not rich__! _"What sort of dress are you looking for?" the saleslady asked slowly.

Ginny had come to conclude that she didn't have a clue. What sort of dress would be appropriate for such a party? Evidently the men would be dressed up, but did that mean she should wear something with a skirt that trailed the floor – or would it be fashionable to show some leg? Should the dress be simple and elegant, or gaudy and loud? 

"Well," Ginny said, flustered, "it's for – er, a party."

The saleswoman stared at her expectantly, waiting for her to go on. "All right," she said after a moment, forcing a smile. "Where is this party going to be? Outside, inside -?"

"The Westin Palace Hotel," Ginny cut in right away, having committed the name to memory. 

"Oh!" The woman's face brightened. "You'll be attending the Tannars' party. You'll want an evening gown. Come, follow me."

Needless to say, Ginny hadn't found a dress she liked there. But she did know what sort to look for, which had aided her in her hunt.

She spent a good part of the morning and afternoon shopping for a dress. Everything she found that she liked was well over her price range, and those that were within her budget she didn't like. She couldn't be an enchantress, no, but she _could_ look good. And she was determined to do so.

Finally, around five in the afternoon, Ginny walked into a women's eveningwear boutique, convinced she was going to find her dress there. If she kept searching much longer, she would be late for the party. She wasn't really sure what time it started, but she suspected around six or so. She'd arrive at eight, just to be careful. 

If she didn't find anything she liked at this store, she decided, then she would go back to one of the previous stores and buy a dress that had looked okay. It would be better than nothing. 

But she ended up finding a dress there that she liked out of all the ones she'd tried on. It was pale green - mint, the tag read - and made of a type of silk; it clung to her enough to show some curves, but also kept some hidden and left to the imagination. The hem trailed the floor; the straps were thin, decorated in rhinestones; the neckline was pleated and covered her chest modestly. 

Ginny had expected sparks to fly when she'd found the right dress. It hadn't happened with this one, but it was pretty enough. She looked good. Besides, as a plus, the color matched her hair; it was awful trying to find the right colors when she shopped for clothes, and most of the time she ended up wearing black or white. 

And though it was a bit more than she was willing to pay, she had enough for it. It took over half her food/spending money, but she gave it. Almost willingly, too; it was an incredible relief to have purchased a dress. 

It was while she was saying, "_Gerwin_" to her inn door that she remembered she needed shoes to match. With a screech of frustration, she glanced at her watch and saw it was nearing six. She wanted to snag a bit of dinner - she hadn't eaten since breakfast - and wouldn't have time to go out for shoes afterwards. 

_It's a good thing you're a witch, Weasley_, she thought, furious with her stupidity. 

After a brief dinner (it had only been her and Nathaniel Marksmon this evening, as it had been the previous one), she returned to her room and pulled out a pair of her ratty old trainers. She'd never been _outstanding _in Transfiguration, but she had enough talent to do this rather simple thing. 

It did take her the better part of ten minutes to get it right, however. By six thirty she had managed to transfigure her trainers into a pair of satin light green - rather, _mint _- pumps with a heel the length of her pointer finger. They weren't too sexy, Ginny had to admit; stilettos would've been better, or maybe a pair of sandaled shoes that wrapped up her calf. But who was going to see it with her dress hanging down to her toes? And besides, she needed comfort. She didn't want her feet moaning in pain five minutes into the evening.

Shoes dealt with, she went into the lavatory to take a long, indulging shower. As she scrubbed her hair, she went over the approach-Malfoy plan in her head. 

She would at least _try _the smooth route - accidentally-on-purpose end up standing beside him, widen her eyes in shock when she saw it was him, tell him he looked familiar, and what was his name again? If he hesitated in answering, appearing to think about giving her a false name, she would plunge on and say his real name, as if suddenly remembering it. She would make pleasantries; ask him how he was, what he was doing nowadays, why he was at this party, all the while getting the strict point across that she had _no idea _he was supposed to be dead. 

Then, as if on a whim, she would ask him to have a drink with her. "To catch up," she would say coyly.

She frowned. Coyly? She would have to act. And damn convincingly, too. 

But how would Malfoy _react_? Would he taunt her like he had during their Hogwarts days? Sneer and turn her down for the drink, saying snottily that he didn't associate with poor Muggle-lovers? It would be terribly childish, but she wouldn't put it past him.

_Well_, she thought, stepping out of the shower, _if he rejects me, I'll just keep trying. Follow him home to find out where he lives, appear randomly on his doorstep the next day and tell him I fancied him at one time or something silly like that. Demand that he go out with me, just once._

That course of action made her cringe. She would have to turn into some begging little girl if she wanted to have his attention. She would have to pretend to swoon for him, to need and want his company.

This would take a hell of a lot of acting skill. 

Her insides bubbled apprehensively as she slipped on her new dress. Her hands shook as she lifted her wand to arrange her hair into something that resembled a style. By the time she was applying cosmetics, she felt she was about to faint. 

She stepped out of the lavatory and came to stand in front of the full-length mirror in her room. She was slightly stunned at what she saw. Not the type to wear a lot of makeup, it was surprising to see her eyes widened by the dark eyeliner, surprising to see her lips colored a darker pink. Her wildly red hair, which had flared out into mad wild waves during puberty and was her pride and her curse, had calmed down a bit; she'd used an Anti-Frizz Charm on it, so it would flatten down slightly, and twisted a few strands so there were large curls every now and then. It was simple, but it worked nicely. 

She looked quite good, if she did say so herself. She'd always thought she was rather cute, maybe even pretty, but now she thought she might take a step beyond pretty. Beautiful in a quiet sense. Not outrageously gorgeous, but classic. 

She was pleased with the face that stared back at her.

Some of the nervousness unknotted in her belly, and she gained some confidence. She could _do_ this. She would be damned if Malfoy would wound her pride if he rejected her drink invitation. It would be _his _loss. 

Besides, once he was locked in Azkaban, she could come visit him and laugh in his face. She'd taunt him, make up for all those years at Hogwarts where he'd verbally tortured everyone she'd known and cared about. In fact, she'd bring some old friends, so they could all have a go. "How does it feel to be outwitted by a Weasley, Malfoy?" she would ask, and smirk at him through the bars of his cell. 

The fantasy made her smile, and eager to get to the party. She glanced at the clock and saw it was just past seven thirty. She could stand to leave a little early; the party was sure to be underway by now. 

But then she was faced with the dilemma of her wand. Should she bring it along? She definitely wouldn't feel safe without it, but where could she put it? She debated sliding it into the elastic of her knickers - she'd done it before, but the dress was clingy enough that someone might see the lump. Besides, she didn't like sticking it there, it made her uncomfortable. 

She ended up transfiguring her hideous pocketbook into a smaller, sleeker bag that was long enough to fit her wand. It took her another fifteen minutes to get it the right size, and the right color. By then she was more than anxious to get going.

She threw a final glance at her reflection in the mirror. Satisfied, she clutched her bag and Disapparted from her room with a _pop._

* * *

"Draco," Blaise said quietly, reaching over the table and grabbing Draco's wrist. "If you have any mercy, you'll kill me right now."

Draco grinned dourly, almost grimacing, and wrenched his wrist free. "I'm too busy plotting Pansy's demise to consider yours, Zabini," he said. 

The Muggle party was horrible. _Painful._And it had only been going for a half hour.

Draco and Blaise were seated at one of the several round, white-clothed tables set up in the cavernous room. There was a circle of pillars in the middle of the room, sectioning off a table-free area for people to stand in groups and mingle. There were even some couples dancing gently to the four-pieced orchestra that was playing classical music. Against one wall was a long counter of food, and a hotel servant was serving people. Several waiters were walking through the crowd, holding trays of champagne. The air was full of conversation and laughter; the atmosphere was light and cheery. 

Draco wanted to hang himself.

"Look at her," Blaise snorted in disgust, referring to Pansy. "She looks like she's enjoying this."

They glanced across the room, into the middle area where Pansy chatting with Gaius Tannar. She wore an outfit that lacked the class and refinement that permeated the room; a white corset that gave her never-ending cleavage, accompanied by an ankle-length white skirt with a slit that ended somewhere around the middle of her thigh. Currently she was charming Tannar, and was unbothered by the fact that his wife close enough to see him staring down her chest and scowling bitterly at them. 

"Better her," Draco replied frostily to Blaise's comment, "than me."

"They'll probably leave soon," Blaise said, forcing hope, knowing once they were gone he and Draco could leave as well. "Tannar looks like he's minutes away from shagging her right on the floor."

Draco turned his head so he could meet Blaise's eye. "Don't get too excited," he warned, "Tannar's the host. He can't leave so soon. We have a good two hours left."

"Fuck me," Blaise swore, sinking back in his chair and moping.

"No thank you," Draco answered, taking a sip of champagne.

For a few minutes, they sat in silence, the trilling laughter and flowing speak of the rich and powerful Muggles clogging their ears. It was good they all spoke in Spanish, or else Draco wasn't sure what he'd do. Perhaps something that involved him, a wand, and a forever-silencing curse. 

He glanced back at Blaise, seeing the other man's surly face and blazing eyes. While Draco wasn't enjoying the festivities anymore than he was, he knew that Blaise would probably take drastic action before him. Draco hadn't really ever gotten a kick out of torturing Muggles; it seemed like a waste of time and effort, and personally didn't entertain him in the slightest. Blaise, on the other hand, probably wouldn't mind handing out a few Cruciatus Curses to occupy himself. Sometimes he was a little too fanatical about inflicting pain for his own good.

At this rate, however, Draco thought he would be willing to see Blaise loose it and start heaving curses at various Muggles by the end of the hour. Just to have something to watch.

"I'm going to find something to eat," Draco said grouchily, and headed for the food counter.

* * *

**Obstacle Number Three: _Invitations_**

Ginny was about to cry. She stood, stupidly, in front of a man who spoke no English and who blocked her passage through the doorway and into the party. 

He had greeted her with a large smile, looking ridiculously handsome in his waiter tuxedo, and said, "Seqorita, ?podrma ver su invitacisn por favor?" while simply radiating sex appeal. When she'd merely blinked and stared at him, quite afraid because she hadn't brought her Spanish-English dictionary, he had chuckled uncomfortably and lifted a piece of paper off the podium he stood behind, holding it up for her to see. Though it was written in Spanish, she had enough sense to see that it was an invitation.

_God – damn – it._

She hadn't even considered an invitation. But of course she should have. It was a party for only the upper crust of Muggle society; the hosts wouldn't want just anyone waltzing in. 

How could she be so _thick_? 

She held up one finger to the man, gesturing that she'd be right back with it. Then she turned and stormed through the lobby, fleeing the hotel.

After smacking herself in the forehead with the heel of her hand and getting odd stares from passerby in return, she started to pace the pavement in front of the building. Her mind worked furiously.

_Okay, _she thought, _this is okay. I can get through this. I'm a witch, for God's sake, I can get past Muggles_.

Maybe she could just go back up to the waiter and smile apologetically. She would say she'd forgotten what her invitation looked like. Laughing, she'd explain she just got so _many_ invitations everywhere she couldn't remember what any looked like. She'd memorize it in a few seconds, and then she could come back outside, grab a discarded newspaper off the street, go into an alley, and transfigure it into an invitation. 

Hmm, good plan. Tiny flaw, however. She couldn't speak the language it required to ask and see the invitation. Even if she _did_ have the communication skills, there was no way she could remember what the invitation said well enough to transfigure something to resemble it. Which didn't make much sense, because if she spoke Spanish, she _would_ be able to read it as well and remember how to duplicate it . . .

Bottom line: she should've brought her bloody dictionary.

She wanted to kick something, punch something, whack something with her pocketbook. But she didn't want to ruin her dress or hair. After all, once she was done being abusive she _would_ find a way to get into that party. And she still needed to look her best.

So she paced some more; thought some more. And then she was struck with an idea that was so simple she wanted to slap her forehead once again for taking so long to come up with it.

Distraction. Distractions always worked. 

But what sort? Maybe start a small fire down the hall, make sure that the invitation Nazi-waiter is closest and therefore have to run away from his post to extinguish it? No, that was too risky. Muggles tended to overreact with fires; they normally evacuated the whole building when a bit of smoke was spotted. She didn't want mayhem; she wanted just one person out of her way.

Well then . . . what? She considered conjuring a snake, maybe have it attack the waiter so he would run away screaming. But then she figured the man might not be afraid and perhaps stomp on it and kill it without moving a step. _Or_ maybe he would scream and his screams would draw the attention of the guests and once the other people spotted the snake. . . .

Mayhem.

"Argh!" Ginny cried, a bit louder than she expected. Once more people gave her questioning glances. 

Finally, she just decided to draw the man away herself. She ended up grabbing a stray newspaper, finding a hidden spot, and turning it the same off-white color that the invitations were (her transfiguring skills were rapidly growing). She even gave it a blue boarder and had some black squiggly lines appear, looking like writing. After cropping it approximately to the correct size, she went back into the hotel and headed towards the toilets.

She had to walk right by the invitation man, but he had pulled out a book and was now reading it. He didn't glance up as she scurried by.

She spent a few minutes in the women's bathroom, which was luckily empty. She clogged about three toilets with magic and flushed them so they overflowed. Satisfied as the water spilled onto the clean tiled floor, she turned back around and returned to the waiter. He lowered his book and smiled charmingly at her once more.

Now was her practice round in acting. Scrunching her face into that of horror and disgust, she pointed frantically towards the lavatory. Fortunately she knew the one word that she needed to use: _toilet._

"El baqo!" she insisted in badly accented Spanish. "El baqo, el baqo!" She was sure to have her invitation clutched in her hand at the correct angle; at one glance it would seem like the real thing. Once she left the waiter's presence, he wouldn't be too concerned that she had disappeared - to him, it would seem like she had an invitation.

Looking alarmed, the man slammed his book onto the podium and hurried off towards the toilets. Ginny followed him, stood with him in the doorway as he examined the damage, and remained there when he turned to leave and get help.

Calmly, once the waiter had disappeared down the hall, she strolled back to the party. She jammed her false invitation into the middle of the stack of real ones on the podium and walked into the room.

She hovered near the door for a few minutes, surveying the place. No one noticed her arrival; the light conversations in Spanish continued, the music went on uninterrupted, and laughter tinkled happily every now and then. The women were dressed in every color imaginable, their necks and wrists and earlobes sparkling with precious jewels. The men wore elegant black and white tuxedos, looking pompous and undeniably rich. 

The groups' wealth eluded them like a scent. Ginny felt oddly out of place. She felt someone could take one look at her and see that she had been raised on everything second-hand, on always getting second best. But no one paid her any attention.

Her eyes searched throughout for Draco, but she couldn't find him from where she was – lingering in the doorway. She stepped deeper into the room. The minute she was in view, a waiter hurried to her side, saying something in Spanish. She assumed he was offering her a glass of champagne, so she flashed him a small smile and took a glass. Then he moved on, and she was left standing idly and trying to look like she belonged.

She took a deep breath and tried to get herself to think. She'd made it into the party - that was the hard part. Finding Malfoy would be easy. Speaking to him would be harder. Getting him to go out with her for a drink would be hardest.

But she'd take it one thing at a time.

Maybe she could go to the table of food and get a plate of something. Then she could sit down at one of the many tables, pray to Lady Luck that there weren't reserved seats, and assess the room from a sitting point while eating. That way she'd at least look like she was doing something, not just standing like an idiot with nothing to do or no one to talk to. 

Inhaling deeply and running her champagne-flute free hand over her dress self-consciously, she crossed the room to the counter of food. 

For about a minute, she stood there, looking at the choices of meats, breads, pastas, vegetables, and fruits, trying to decide what she wanted. The man serving waited for her to make a decision, although she didn't notice. Finally, just when she opened her mouth to announce what she wanted, a person said something loudly to the server in perfect Spanish.

The voice surprised her; she hadn't been aware someone had come up beside her. She glanced over, some sixth sense telling her before she'd even laid eyes on him that it was Malfoy. But she still was surprised to see him. Starting a bit with a slight gasp, she somehow managed to release the champagne glass. She felt it slip from her fingers, then felt it splash down the front of her dress, before sliding to the floor with the dainty sound of thin glass being shattered.

**Obstacle Number Four: _Acting_**

Ginny stared at the broken champagne flute, her face heating up like a second sun. _Christ_, she was such an idiot. How _the hell _had she managed to tip her glass over first, before proceeding to _drop _the blasted thing? 

Where the fuck had all her Gryffindor bravery gone? She couldn't make herself look at Malfoy. She could feel him looking at her, and she felt her face burn vividly, but she couldn't meet his eyes. She had the sudden urge to dash away and bash her face into something wide, flat, and metal. 

"Oh," she squeaked. "How clumsy of me."

She crouched down to pick up the broken glass, wanting to die, but already a masculine, well manicured hand was reaching for it. 

"Allow me," he said, this time in English, and there was a trace of smirk in his voice.

_Kill me, kill me, kill me. _She found some of that supposed Gryffindor courage she possessed and raised her eyes to his face. He was staring down, not at her, to see the shards of glass he was placing in his hand. And he was indeed smirking. 

And he was indeed every bit as good looking as the Ministry's photographs had depicted.

Ginny rose to her feet quickly, wiping her hands foolishly on her ruined dress. She considered taking her wand out of her pocketbook and fixing it, but didn't think now was the time. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Malfoy handing the broken glass to the man serving the food. He turned and caught her gaze before she could turn away.

"Smooth," he told her absently, as if he was already bored with her presence. He reached to pluck a grape from a tray and popped it into his mouth. "Hope that isn't expensive silk."

She'd rehearsed _all_ day what she was going to say to him . . . _"Oh, hello! If you will forgive me, I've forgotten your name . . . Ah yes, Draco Malfoy! We went to Hogwarts together, didn't we? It's been what, four years? Five?"_

But she didn't think that careless approach would work anymore. She felt way too uncoordinated for that. _Think,__ Ginny, fo__cus! her mind shrieked. _You can do this.__

It was a little reassuring that her face seemed to have cooled down some. 

With some renewed hope, she switched scenes, but kept the same basic script in mind. Calling upon her actress skills once more, she screwed her face into that of amazement. "Malfoy?" she blurted, as if having recognized him at his remark on her dress. 

A long second passed as Malfoy stared at her, chewing his grape with an aloof expression. If he wanted to blow her entire mission, all he had to say now was, "No, you are mistaken" and walk away. And she wouldn't be able to do anything without acting suspicious. Because if she really had run into him by accident, she would've accepted the fact that he was someone else, not knowing any better from not having seen him in five years. It would be a bright red sign if she pursued him, showing she was confident it was him; and that bright red sign would read: I WORK FOR THE MINISTRY. 

"I can't believe it's you," she went on hurriedly before he could deny anything, trying to sound like she was surprised to see him. "I mean, it's been . . . what? Five years?" 

He smirked cockily at that and she ignored it, hoping he got the hint that she hadn't heard of his death. He needed to believe she thought he was just there on vacation or something; he needed to believe she hadn't the slightest inkling he was supposed to be dead.

It was a fragile notion, however. There were a million reasons why Draco could say he was someone else and leave. If he admitted to being Malfoy, he had to know there was a chance that Ginny would eventually find out he'd been "killed", especially since he might figure out she would mention seeing him to someone in her family and they would know for sure that he was supposedly dead.

And yet . . . if he was going to tell her a different name, then why was he standing there _smirking_ at her? Being so Malfoy-ish that it would be impossible to think differently?

All her fretting had been for nothing. Draco Malfoy's expression melted into that of amusement. He replied easily, "Hullo, Weasley."

He sounded the same, Ginny thought to herself, but he also sounded different. The arrogance was still there, the detachment was still there. But he sounded more refined; grown up. Maybe he still got thrills from making fun of people, but he probably did it in a more adult-like manner. 

Easy enough. Ginny could handle him.

She forced a smile, congratulating herself on what she felt was a believable appearance of warmth. "Call me Ginny," she said. Politely. Not seductively. 

He answered by eating another grape. It was amazing how breathtaking he was. Ginny didn't remember him being nearly as good looking at Hogwarts. His hair was fine, pale . . . almost silvery, if she looked at it the right way. His eyes were gray, and it would have been a pretty color if there had been warmth in them. He was on the short side, even though he had grown considerably since she'd last seen him five years ago, but still a bit taller than she. And he was slim. His skin was flawless; he practically glowed with good health. Beside him, even looking her best, Ginny felt old and scruffy.

She could feel her tense muscles relaxing. So far, everything was going fairly well. The incident with the broken champagne glass was fading from her memory; it hadn't been _that_ bad, really. 

"I wasn't aware you came to Muggle parties," she said, striking up conversation. "I guess you've grown up since I've last seen you."

"I'm here for a reason." His voice had taken on a hard edge, so slight he probably didn't even realize it. 

"Are you?" She didn't want to pry too much into his business at first; if he thought she was too meddlesome, he would be more apt to reject her drink invitation. "Well, I just didn't think you knew the host." _Please don't ask me to say who the host is, _she prayed, though why he would ask her such a thing was beyond her. 

He met her gaze, his eyes subtly brightening with slight enjoyment. "I didn't think you could afford to know the host," he answered, reaching for his champagne.

Her smile hardened. "Well, maybe you haven't grown up," she told him frostily. In actuality the comment hadn't insulted her in the slightest. Was that the best he could do? 

"Hmm. You might want to get that cleaned before it becomes permanent," he said, pointing at the stain on her dress. Then he stepped by her and started to walk away.

**Obstacle Number Five: _Drinks_**

_No! _She wasn't done with him yet. She needed to ask him out. Spinning around, she said hurriedly to his retreating back, "Would you like to leave this party with me?"

_Oh my God_, she thought, horrified. Had she really just said that? 

He turned back to face her, fighting back yet another smirk. "No thanks, Weasley, I have a strict policy that doesn't allow me to sleep with a woman if I haven't known her for at least five minutes."

Her temper flared. Of course _he had _to take it that way. "You've known me since I was eleven, Mal - Draco," she said, struggling to keep her voice even and the conversation away from childish antics. "And that's not what I meant."

"Really." He started to walk away again.

_He's getting away! _her brain yelled at her, as if she didn't realize. Anger being replaced with panic, she strode after him. Intercepting him, she grabbed his arm to get his attention. Startled, he threw her hand off as he turned to face her once more.

"I think it would be nice to have a drink with you," she told him. It took effort to add coolness into her tone. "Catch up on things. I've been in this city for a week with absolutely no human contact because I don't know anyone," she lied.

"I have better things to do than spend my evening with you," he said.

Typical. "Such as socialize with Muggles?" she accused harshly, placing her hands on her hips and narrowing her eyes.

His mouth hardened, and he glanced casually over his shoulder. Ginny was well aware he was looking at someone and followed his eyes. Sitting a few tables away was the same dark-haired man who had been tuxedo-shopping with Malfoy the previous afternoon. Though he wasn't looking at them, she could see his face and still couldn't place him. Before she had a chance to study him, Draco moved in to block her view.

"Fine," he told her flatly. "You win."

He kept a hand on her arm as he led her out of the party, as if afraid she would look back to examine his companion. She didn't, but she knew soon she would have to do some serious research to find the dark-haired man's identity.

* * *

Draco was surprised.

He didn't surprise easily. He normally was in control and knew what was going on. Expected it.

He hadn't expected Ginny Weasley to be at the Muggle party.

The sight of her standing beside him at the food counter had sent a swirl of emotions through him. One was doubt. If she was so incompetent, how had she found him so quickly? According to Pansy, she was supposed to have been sent to Spain only two days before. He thought he had about a week before he had to start worrying about her.

Another was a strange sort of attraction. He'd never paid the youngest Weasley any attention at school, but that was because she hadn't had anything worth looking at. Now she caught his notice. She wasn't the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, but there was something about her that had tugged at him. And he was a bit wary about it.

The third thing he'd felt was irritation. He would have to deal with her a lot sooner than he'd thought. And by having found him so easily, she proved herself eager. Perhaps she _was_ incompetent and had just stumbled upon him by luck, but she certainly was going to try to do her job. He didn't like that. 

It wasn't what he expected.

But she proved to be a plausible excuse for escaping the Muggle party. Blaise would give him hell later, he knew, but he didn't care. Blaise always whined about something and Draco could tune him out rather effortlessly.

And yet for a fleeting moment Draco wondered if he would be better off staying at the party than "getting a drink" with Weasley. But then he realized at least speaking with Weasley would keep him on his toes and give him something to do; after all, he would have to be able to respond to her without giving away he knew she was after him. He would have to think. That was more than he could do at the party.

Draco kept his hand on Weasley's elbow as he led her out of the room, hoping she hadn't gotten a clear view of Blaise. She might not recognize him, but there was still a chance. And though she wasn't a problem in a full sense, she could still report back to her superiors that she'd seen Blaise Zabini associating with Draco and cause more trouble than it was worth. The last thing he needed was the Ministry after Blaise as well.

As the two of them crossed the lobby and headed outside, Draco found he was starving. Weasley had distracted him from getting his dinner at the party. He debated just holding out on eating until he'd had his brief drink with her. _No_, he thought, _I shouldn't have to wait just because I don't want to spend time with Weasley. _It would be better for him just to find someplace to eat and promptly ignore her. 

So where did he want to go to eat? Home wasn't an option. He refused to take Weasley into his flat. And some nice and expensive restaurant was also out of the question. He refused to spend a lot of money on her. Now that he wasn't trying to hide from the Ministry anymore, he _could _go to a wizarding place to eat. But having been avoiding all wizarding places he wasn't sure where there was a restaurant. 

With an irritated sigh, he decided on a Muggle Chinese place. He'd passed it before and knew of it - he hadn't been inside before, but it had looked clean enough. Moderately priced. The sort of place middle-class people ate.

Draco hadn't set foot inside because he was above middle-class.

If Weasley was to be with him, then he supposed it would have to suffice. He would have to swallow his dignity and lower himself to a Muggle, middle-class restaurant. 

"Where would you like to go?" Weasley asked, as if knowing he had finally come to a decision. "I know of a -"

"I know where to go," he cut her off shortly. 

He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a mobile telephone. He found the invention to be one of the most useless devices created, but the only reason he had it was to ring his chauffeur whenever he needed a ride. If he had to live like a Muggle, then he would have the best of the Muggles. If he had to be transported like a Muggle, then he would be transported in class. 

Of course, he would soon dispose of both services, because with Weasley on the job, he didn't need to worry about the Ministry tracking him down anymore. But at the moment they proved a useful.

It had taken Draco about an hour of intense study to figure out how to use the mobile telephone, but now he had to admit he was rather efficient with it. He flipped it open and dialed the one number he'd had the need to memorize - his chauffeur's.

Sebastian was the man's name, and he was the one Muggle Draco could tolerate. He barely spoke and never asked questions. Still, it would be a relief once Draco discontinued the use of the Sebastian's services - the next day, he decided. Muggles made him uneasy, no matter how they kept to their own business.

"Sir," Sebastian answered dully after the first ring. 

"I'm ready," said Draco shortly. "Waiting out front."

He flipped the mobile closed and slid it back into his pocket. Weasley was staring at him, but he didn't bother to look at her. They waited only a few seconds before Draco spotted the sleek, black luxury automobile that had come along with Sebastian. 

Sebastian pulled to a stop by the curb. Draco opened the back door and got in; if he had been a gentleman, he would've held it open for Weasley. But he wasn't a gentleman. Especially when Weasleys were involved. To add a bit more sting, he slammed the door without scooting over. She would have to go around to the other side if she wanted a ride.

A moment later the other door opened, and Weasley plopped in. She looked thoroughly annoyed. _Good_, he thought, struggling to keep a grin off his face.

"Where to, Mister Malfoy." Sebastian seemed so bored he couldn't even make the question sound like such.

"Chinese," answered Draco, settling back into his seat. Beside him, Weasley had her arms crossed tightly over her chest. He threw a glance at her and saw her glaring out the window as they pulled into the street.

_This could be fun_, he mused, looking out his own window. He could spend his evening infuriating her. 

It was then he wondered why he had subconsciously chosen to sit in the back with her, and not up front with Sebastian. 

* * *

**A/N**: So they've met. Yay. 

Next chapter: they eat Chinese. They bond. They banter. Ginny invites Draco out once again. The Plan runs into a problem. Travel must ensue. 

Spanish translations: "**_Seqorita_****_, ?_**_podrma_****_ ver su invitacisn por favor?"_** translates to "May I see your invitation, miss?" ******

**El baqo means toilet. **

And thank yous:

**dragongirlG** (hmm, Penelope is kind of suspicious isn't she? I'll give you a hint though; she's not really supposed to be ;) Miss Congeniality . . . now there's a movie I haven't seen in a while . . .), **Jade Summers **(haha, gotta love Spanish), **Allie29** (wow, that's a lot of Allies. Penelope was quite fun to write, so I'm glad she's fun to read. Thank ya much!), **Princess Cora** (why thank you. I'm so jealous . . . lots of traveling . . . blah, the only places we go are New York and South Carolina. Gar. Anyway, thanks again!), **Atherie (haha, meet they did indeed), **Brooke Kenobi **(blah, sorry, it did take me a while to update. But I always love your reviews, so thanks!), ****Lauren (whoosh, long review! It was great. Anyway, I'm honored you'd sacrifice sleep to read my story; that's devotion. Mad hugs for you. Glad you like my Draco; I always find him a pain in the rear to pin down. Yeah, Penelope is rather bold, isn't she? That's just her character, though . . . I think . . . moving on. Writing has always kind of come naturally to me – can you believe that I started to write really bad Titanic stories in fourth grade? – so I can't really remember starting. But I do think it's something that improves the more you do it, so if you enjoy it, then just write! Even if you let no one read them, if it makes you happy, then do it. Well, now that I've gone all sappy, I'll touch on quickly on the marching band topic; we, too, have to wear bulky uniforms that'll keep us nice and warm, especially in the 85-degree, 95 with humidity, weather. But I'm having fun with it, so thanks. This is an awful long thank you, but I enjoyed your review tremendously. Thanks once more!), **Sakura1287** (ahh, Blaise/Pansy/Draco is a delight to write (hey, I rhymed!). Haha glad you liked my reviews, I did enjoy your story. Thanks for so many reviews!), **fEEdLestEEx** (Hurhur, eh? That's a great way to write a laugh. I'll have to try it sometime. Anyway, thanks!), **HPReader4L** (hey, you know what? I think you're right! I think my years are screwed up. I'll see if I can fix it; thanks!), ****Bulma** Greenleaf** (whew, I was worried about those evil pink fluffy teddybears, let me to you. Thank ya!), ****ChristyK (Draco and Ginny are definitely very shexy together), ****Miss Auburn (thanks!), **mz-duCkiee** (haha, good, I'm glad it makes a bit more sense now. And I bet that the Ministry would own Azkaban, but for plot purposes were going to say one man owns it. Bitchy Spanish guys rock, yes they do. Penelope will definitely come in more bulk later!), ****ChubBubble (in the book it says Draco is kind of short, so I kept him that way. Sorry! Anyway, thanks, glad you like the story!), **FlavOftheweek** (Haha exactly! If she stunned him there would be no mad G/D sex . . . ahem, anyway. You killed your eye on a tree ROOT? How did your eye get down that low? Haha that's pretty funny . . . well, not that you got hurt, I hope you're okay, of course . . . haha okay I'll shut up now), ****Nobodysbitch (why thank you, I'll try to keep Penelope quite Bitchy), ****Luinthoron (Gotta love the Slytherins. Glad you liked Penelope!), **Tia****** Dot1 (haha, well . . . well . . . Penelope doesn't like you either! Okay, that was pathetic. Anyway, thanks for being such a stupendous beta!), **silent squeak** (yeah, the lexicon is like, my Bible. Kinda. Why are you tired in the afternoon?), **MaryMadMalfoy** (Pissing me off? Pfft, I love emails! Hey, that's cool that you're translating it . . . good luck, the freaking thing is forever long!), **love-and-war17** (why thank you! And I don't see any sequels for AYNiL any time soon . . .), **AnonymousHGDV** (haha thanks!), ****VioletJersey (Anything with "Draco" and "Ginny" and "seducing" has got to be high quality, no? Haha, I'm glad you're back to review my fic, it's great to see some loyal fans! I'm thrilled you liked AYNiL so much; it really means oodles to me. Hope to hear from you again quite soon!), **Cursed4Life** (haha, I hope you laugh in a _good way), **frananddragon** (ever again? You can't EVER use the computer? Eek, that's frightening. No, Blaise isn't gay. He just happened to be lying in Pansy's very feminine bed and Draco wanted to make fun of him for it. I believe Blaise is quite straight), _****Anaxandra1 (Ha Draco's always smug. I'm glad you like Penelope; don't worry, she's definitely not there to dominate the fic as a Mary-Sue. You have my word. Anyway thanks!), **Britta** (*bows down to The Beatles* Great song, great song. Yes, I do believe snogs need to come into play, don't they? Soon, I should think. Thanks!), **Shakespeare's Muse** (gotcha, S.e.a5. Nope, you spelled portrayed right. Glad you like Blaise; I've never even attempted writing him before, so it's completely my first characterization of him. Thank ya much!), **twinsofthesky** (you crazy, crazy girl, you crack me up like a banana…ha great joke, Brianna *pats self on back*. Anyway, don't go dancing wildly in any libraries soon . . .), **TrinitYMalfoY527** (thank you muchos. I know, it was a long shot that she ran into him . . . who would've guessed? Certainly not me . . . anyway, yeah, Penelope at first seems like your usual bitchy, stuck-up, and bold American, but like you pointed out – she's not fat, haha. And she's not very lazy. Or rich. Her character will be revealed in more depth later. Thanks for the review!), ****Jenny (haha, patience is a virtue, but dammit it's annoying. Thank you!), ****Pink Inspiration (Some places in America water's free, but other places you have to pay for it. So I just assumed this was a water-charging place in Spain. Anyway, thank ya!), **Caramello** (well thank you for reviewing! It's great to hear from you), ****Luna Writer (haha yeah I planned the merci. I'll treat Penelope with tender loving care, never worry), **Ili** (indeed I have written another story! Thanks, glad you like my stories ;)), ****Lyn Malfoy/Felton (it has been quite a while! I do remember you, actually. Thanks for the two reviews!), **TessWalker** (thank you so much! I know I sound eager, but it's really great to hear you say that. I'm glad you enjoy my writing so much. And I have yet to take Spanish . . . next year I will, though), **tiggergrl1306** (haha kick-buttish. Thanks oodles), ****Carol Mephoter (hey, you're English is actually really good! Haha, glad the Spanish is good; I have a Spanish beta), **TheGirlWhoLived2** (hello hello Elaine. Of course you made sense. And I'm still envious that you got to go to France and I didn't. Jumping in the ocean at ten at night…pft…*sulks*), ****Aaren1 (Gracias, amigo! Wow, that's about the extent of my Spanish ability, haha), **The Ginneh** (No problem; one review is enough. I have no idea how long this story is going to be; it'll just be as long as it wants to be. Thanks for the review!), **xi-swt-tearz-ix** (thank ya!).**

It's great; this chapter I got suuuuuch long reviews. I love 'em, guys! Thanks bunches. 


	5. The Date

**A/N:** Wow, everyone. I'm incredibly sorry for such a long wait on this chapter. I'll try my absolute hardest to get chapter 6 out quicker. Thanks for waiting!

Special thanks to Elaine for beta'ing this chapter!

**Disclaimer:** JK Rowling's genius. 

**Chapter Five**

****

**_The Date_**

It only took a few moments for Ginny to loosen up. Five minutes into the ride, she was over her brief irritation with him, flashing him smiles and making small talk.

"So what have you been up to these past few years, Draco?" she asked pleasantly, her smile looming large and forced.

Draco turned to look out the window so she wouldn't see his deep scowl. What an obnoxious question. When he composed himself, he met her eyes and managed to grin. "Just trying to keep myself occupied, Weasley," he answered as cryptically as he could.

Ginny nodded as if she understood. Then she glanced around the car, saying casually, "I'm surprised you live like this."

"Like what?" he demanded before thinking.

"A Muggle," she told him.

"Why not?" he asked, a bit sharply. The tone of his voice caught her off-guard, and he mentally reprimanded himself. He needed to control his responses a bit better than that. Living as a Muggle was a touchy subject for him; if he wasn't a wanted criminal, he could be doing all the magic he wanted. 

_I shouldn't worry about it_, he thought, a bit annoyed with himself. With Ginny trailing him, he could do all the magic he wanted now. The Ministry already knew where he was, so it wasn't like they could find him if he started using magic once more. In fact, the minute he got rid of Ginny for the evening, he was going to get rid of Sebastian as well. He would start travelling the rightful way again.

However, Ginny did not need to know the whole magic bit. And he didn't need to get upset every time she mentioned something he wasn't too fond of. 

Draco had more control than that. 

"Well, I just didn't think you were the type to live as a Muggle," Ginny said easily. "At Hogwarts you weren't exactly a Muggle-lover."

The perfect reply popped in his head. He met her gaze squarely, made his face as somber as possible, and said quietly, "People change."

Her eyes widened slightly, but other than that he got no real reaction. He turned back to the window just in case his grin randomly popped up. He had surely confused her with that retort. She wouldn't know what to think.

Good. He needed her confused. She was already outwitting him, and he couldn't have that go on any longer.

Before Ginny had time to pose another question, Sebastian was turning into the parking lot of the Chinese restaurant. He pulled to a stop by the entrance, and Draco was out of the car without another word to Ginny.

He opened the door to the restaurant as Ginny joined him. She didn't know the name of the place, as it was in Spanish, but she could tell that it was someplace to sit down and order. She couldn't contain her surprise.

"I thought we were just getting a drink," she said as Draco stepped into the restaurant ahead of her. He could've sworn there was a touch of uneasiness in her tone.

"I'm hungry," he stated simply, fixing his attention on the hostess directly ahead.

After Draco informed the hostess, in Spanish, that he wanted a large booth that seated four (he wanted all the room possible; the tables for two seemed like its occupants sat too close), the pair of them were led towards the back of the dining area. The entire place was dimly lit – _damn_, Draco thought harshly, _low lights are nauseatingly romantic. _

Yet he made no complaint, graciously accepting the menu that was handed to him. He unfolded it and lifted it in front of his face, hoping to avoid conversation.

"How did you learn Spanish, Draco?" Ginny solicited amiably.

So much for no conversation. "Books," he countered shortly from behind his menu.

"Well, your accent is very good for someone who learned from a book," she said, and he heard a teasing note in her voice. 

Curiosity got the best of him and he lowered his menu, greeted by her grin. This one, too, looked forced. She must've been as thrilled to be spending time with him as he was to spend time with her. "Wizarding books, Weasley," he informed her slowly, as though talking to a child; everyone knew wizarding books actually spoke the language out loud. "Not Muggles'." He quietly congratulated himself on how rude he sounded and lifted his menu up once more.

"Oh," was all Ginny said.

He escaped talking with her for a couple of minutes, pretending to take his time in selecting what he wanted. Meanwhile, his mind went through ways to verbally torture Weasley and keep her off his back for a few weeks. He needed to squash her enthusiastic outlook on her job. And tonight, being their first meeting, was the best time to crush her spirits.

Fortunately, he'd had a lot of practice tormenting people, back in his Hogwarts days. Unfortunately, he hadn't found anyone worth tormenting in so long that he hadn't done it in a while. He wasn't coming up with anything witty; just stupid things like _"You're poor" _or _"I have more money than you."_

The waiter came and took their drink orders. Since Ginny said she was ready to order dinner, Draco had to lower and hand over his shield (menu) as they ordered. Once the waiter had moved on, Draco was left with no choice but to meet Ginny's stare straightforwardly.

"How is this place?" Ginny put in before he could think of an insult. She glanced around the restaurant, as if summing it up. "It seems nice."

"I've never been here before," Draco said offhandedly. 

Ginny nodded, pressing her lips together. She continued to look about the room, but now her eyes flitted almost anxiously. His short responses were beginning to make her uncomfortable.

Perfect. He wasn't there to help her relax.

"So, Draco," she tried again, fixing him with another posed smile, "What do you do for a living?"

The waiter placed a bowl of fried noodles on the table, followed by their drinks. When he left, Draco was smirking. "I don't work," he told her. "My father's in Azkaban, and my mother's remarried. The Malfoy fortune is mine. I don't have any reason to work."

She looked like she was smiling for a camera and she really didn't want the picture to be taken. "So you don't do anything, then?" she prompted, stirring her water with the straw. "You just sit around your home all day and stare at the walls?"

"Of course not," he said, feigning offence. "I don't stare at the walls. I contemplate how to spend my money." 

He expected her face to stiffen under the pressure of keeping her smile intact. He was greatly disappointed. The opposite occurred; her expression actually softened, and for once her lips were curved into a genuine smile. Draco pointedly ignored sudden rush of heat rising inside him at the sight of her twinkling eyes.

Damn. That little comeback hadn't gone over too well. He'd hoped she would've taken offense to the fact he didn't have to work and could still spend money shamelessly. Who would've thought a Weasley would . . . well, have a lighter sense of humor?

It struck Draco right then that he hadn't ever dealt with Ginny Weasley before. Her brother, Ron . . . yes, he'd been easy to deal with. Even some of the older Weasley boys had been simple. But he'd never really had to handle the girl Weasley. 

That realization was making him uneasy. And he didn't like the feeling.

Then he frowned, once more cross with himself. He could contend with Ginny Weasley. Wasn't she supposedly the daftest hit-witch in the Ministry? He could best her. Effortlessly.

He wondered why that knowledge wasn't as soothing as it should've been.

"You must have a hobby of some sort," Ginny pressed on, jerking his attention back. "Do you like to go out with mates or anything?"

"I suppose I do," said Draco vaguely, taking a sip of his Coca-Cola. 

"You suppose?" Ginny gave him look that was doubtful and coy and almost believable. "What does that mean?"

"Why so interested, Weasley?" he said instead of answering. 

"I'm just making conversation," she replied, a tinge of impatience to her tone. "We haven't seen each other in five years. And so far, from what I see, you've completely changed." Her fake smile flashed again. "I'm just trying to get to know the new Malfoy."

Draco tried not to be annoyed. There _was_ no new Malfoy. There was nothing to get to know. "You go first," he said, forcing himself to sound civil.

"Excuse me?" Ginny gave him a blank look.

"You tell me about you," he said, fixing an arrogant grin on his face, "and I'll tell you about me." If he kept her talking long enough, the evening would end before they got to the topic of him.

She gave him a side glance, suspicious. "I asked you first," she said slowly. 

"I asked _you_ first," he insisted. "You just asked me what my hobbies were."

She narrowed her eyes, irritation provoked, and replied fierily, "Same _thing_!"

"It's quite different," Draco assured her, meeting her fire with ice. When she continued to glare at him, he said firmly, "Go on. I'm eager to hear about what you've been doing for the past few years." 

She heard his sarcasm. She had to have. But she gave in with a heavy, frustrated sigh, making it loud enough so Draco was sure to know she was aggravated with him. "I've been working," she ground out.

"What line of work are you in?" 

He saw something flash in her eyes; he knew instantly that she hadn't thought of a profession to lie with. It thrilled him. The fact that she could look over something so trivial, that she hadn't been prepared with an alternate job, restored his confidence in her ineptitude. He had to try hard to keep his mouth from tugging into a satisfied smile.

However, she didn't hesitate for very long. Just a beat passed, and her uncertainty vanished. "I'm a writer," she said easily, even if it was a bit breathlessly. She looked down and bit into a fried noodle, trying to keep her eyes hidden under her lashes. 

Evidently, _writer_ was the first response she could think of. Draco decided to make it a little tougher. "What do you write?"

She skipped another beat, crunched on another noodle, and let out the first thing that jumped into her mind. "Biographies."

Draco couldn't help it. He laughed. A loud sound that had seemed foreign to his own ears; a sound that had Ginny's head snapping up in surprise. It took a moment, but he managed to compose himself until he was grinning mockingly at her. "Is there . . . a lot of money in writing biographies?"

She flushed darkly. "More than you'd think," she told him lightly, lifting her chin almost haughtily.

"I'm sure it's a rich subject with many fascinating aspects," Draco said derisively. "Written about anyone good lately?"

She shrugged, lowering her gaze once more to the noodles. "Not anyone you'd know," she replied.

"Try me."

Embarrassment turning into exasperation, she raised her head. "I can't tell you," she said, her voice wavering ever so slightly. 

"Why not?" Draco struggled to keep from laughing again. This really was highly entertaining. Putting Weasley in such a spot was giving him more delight than he'd originally thought.

"Because," she answered lamely. She opened her mouth to say more, sighed in frustration, and looked around the dining room. As if seeking help. Finally, she turned back to him, her expression much stronger and surer than it had been moments before. "Because it's in the process of being published, and I don't want to give away the subject before it gets into shops."

_Bollocks_. Draco leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms over his chest. Even though her delivery on the lie hadn't been so great, there was no way he could contradict her. He couldn't tell her she was lying because he had no way to prove it. "Oh," he said at last.

"See, that's why I'm here," Ginny said, now more confident with her story. She took a long sip of her water. "It's a sort of celebratory holiday. Congratulating myself for getting something published. Or nearly, anyway."

"Hmm," Draco replied distractedly. The discussion had lost its appeal in two seconds flat. Now it was his turn to survey the room, hoping that a new topic of torture would soon come to him so this date would pass by quicker. 

For the next couple of minutes, there was silence. Ginny didn't attempt to speak, either; she was probably still trying to recover from her stupendously stupid tale. 

Then the food came. Draco had ordered a feast; a platter of sweet and sour chicken, two egg rolls, steamed rice, and hot and sour soup – all because he liked to have more than one choice of food. Ginny had merely asked for some wonton soup. He pretended not to see her longing look at his meal as it was placed in front of him; pretended not to notice how she was obviously trying to hint that she was hungrier than she'd thought, and that she wanted some of his food.

But a few moments into the meal, she decided to take charge herself. Her fork came out of nowhere and speared one of his chicken pieces. Draco looked up at her, glaring, but she merely smiled back, chewing with her mouth open and making loud smacking noises.

That smile bothered him for two reasons. One – it was obnoxious. Two – it was real. She'd only given him two authentic smiles the entire night and already he was hoping she wouldn't give him any more. The strange attraction he'd felt at the beginning of the evening was only growing stronger by her smile, and he could not risk lusting for Ginny Weasley. It presented too many problems and was better off being avoided entirely.

Ginny took his silence for acceptance, and continued to eat his food. For some reason, he didn't stop her. Maybe it was because he knew he couldn't eat all of it himself. Whatever the explanation was, it didn't stop the two of them from eating off the same plate in quiet for the next five minutes.

Draco finished first. He shoved the plate to her side of the table, leaned back, and watched her eat. She ate messily; she was totally unsophisticated. He would expect no less from a Weasley.

He was furious with himself for being charmed by it.

Finally, Ginny dropped her fork with a clatter and groaned. "Oh, I'm full," she declared, smiling contentedly to herself. 

Draco said nothing. Instead, he tried to look bored, pretending to be occupied with the happenings around the room. He could sense Ginny's uneasiness return; could just about feel her stiffen.

"It's your turn, Draco," she informed him. "I told you what I do, now you tell me what you do."

"I don't work," he said cleanly, not realizing he was repeating what he'd already told her.

"No shit," she fired petulantly. Amused by her flare of anger, he turned his attention back to her. "We made a deal, Draco. You have to tell me what _your_ _hobbies_ are."

"I'm not finished learning about you," he replied efficiently. 

"Too bad, it's _my_ turn to ask about y ­-" she started.

"Have your fifty-three brothers made something of themselves?" he interrupted. 

He had to fight back another spurt of laughter at her expression. She reddened once again and narrowed her eyes irately. "I only have six," she managed to say with a surprisingly frigid and collected tone. "And they've all made something of themselves. They're all successful, they're all married, and they all have children."

"Looks like you're the only . . . _failed _Weasley," he said delicately.

She flushed even darker. It was priceless. _If she demands to see me again any time soon, it'll be a mild miracle_, Draco thought triumphantly. 

"I'm also the youngest," she reminded him with forced placidness, preoccupying herself by scraping her fork across the empty plate. Draco tried not to wince at the maddening screeching noise it made. "My career is going steady now, and I don't see any rush to marry someone. So really, I haven't _failed_ at all. I'm right where I want to be."

"Cheers for you," he said, lifting his glass up before taking a sip from it. He then turned his attention to a waiter who was serving a nearby table. He couldn't have her think he was _that_ interested in what she had to say.

Because he honestly wasn't.

Their waiter brought the bill and took away their dishes. Draco strongly considered being a bastard and demanding that Ginny pay half the check because she ate some of his food. But he didn't think it was honorable to the Malfoy name; Malfoys _never_ asked for money. It wasn't ethical.

Once Draco had placed the correct amount of money in the bill flap and set it on the side of the table to be picked up, Ginny resumed the conversation. "All right," she said, placing her elbows on the table and leaning forward. "The date's almost over. It's your turn to tell me what you like to do."

Draco stalled. He pretended to mull it over – as if thinking of what he liked to do was a tough subject – and while he did so, the waiter collected their check. 

"It's not that difficult," Ginny said sharply. "Do you like to read, practice magic, collect Chocolate Frog Cards –"

"Ah, but I'm Muggle, remember?" Draco cut in, smiling leisurely. "I don't practice magic and I don't eat Chocolate Frogs."

"Okay, now that I know what you _don't _do," she snapped, "why don't you inform me what you _do _enjoy doing?"

Draco gave a short laugh. "Women," he said plainly.

Ginny stared at him a moment, then rolled her eyes in exasperation. "That much is obvious," she muttered.

Hmm. Was it? How would she know? _She must've seen me already with many escorts, _he thought, and felt a thrill of having a way to corner her in her game. "How is that obvious?" Draco asked, slowly and quietly. And with just a hint of threat. 

He'd caught her. Ginny's eyes flew to his, seemingly surprised that she'd let something that hinted she knew about him slip. But she was quick about it. In the blink of an eye she'd smoothed her expression into that of indifference. She shrugged. "You just strike me as the type who doesn't like to commit. Who likes to spend a different night with a different woman."

Draco's excitement faded. That cover-up wasn't very plausible, but yet again, he couldn't challenge her. Unable to stop his frown, he looked away and decided it was time to go.

He stood up without another word, catching Ginny off-guard. Much like he had entered the restaurant, Draco exited it, making sure that he was five steps ahead of her and giving off negative vibes. 

Outside on the curb, Draco scanned the parking lot for Sebastian. His chauffeur caught sight of him and was backing out of the parking space when Ginny stepped up beside Draco.

She nudged him, and before he could catch himself he glanced around at her. She wasn't looking at him, but she was holding her hand out. "Here," she said, "the hostess gave them to me."

It was a fortune cookie. Draco smirked, took it, and shoved it into his coat pocket. 

"Not too keen on your fortune, Draco?" she asked impishly. He heard the plastic wrapper crinkle as she opened her cookie. 

"I have my fortune, Weasley," he told her as Sebastian pulled to a stop in front of them. "And it's not in any cookie."

Before he could pull open the back door and get in, Ginny just about plowed him over to reach the handle first. She yanked the door open and all but dove into the car, gracelessly and clumsily sliding onto the seat in her long dress. 

Draco stood for a moment, unaware that his jaw had dropped slightly, completely stunned that she had done such a thing. Noticing his hesitation, Ginny peeked her head out of the car and grinned up at him. "Must hurt the ego being beaten by a lady," she said obnoxiously.

"If you call that being beaten," he said, recovering from his initial surprise and leaning down so he was eye level with her. "And if you call yourself a lady."

He slammed the door on her shocked face and, with a pleased smile, sat up front with Sebastian. 

* * *

_Git_, Ginny fumed, curling her fingers tightly around her purse. _Ignoramus. Bastard. I can't wait until he's in bloody Azkaban._

She wasn't sure what it was about Malfoy that brassed her off so badly, either. She'd taken worse verbal beatings from her brothers. Far worse. But there was just something about Draco that managed to make her annoyed every two seconds, something that made her want to reach across the table (or whatever barrier happened to be between them) and smack his smug face. 

She then thought that maybe the reason why Malfoy somehow managed to bother her – far more than anyone else ever had – was the simple fact that she was strongly attracted to him.

The man simply oozed sex appeal. So it wasn't like she could help that she had, during the course of their meal, found herself staring at his lips and wondering what kind of kisser he was. She also couldn't help that her attention had, on occasion, been drawn to his hands, those perfectly manicured hands, and she had wondered what it would be like if he touched her. If those hands had run through her hair, around her neck, down her back . . .

Ginny felt herself blushing and reminded herself that the object of her fantasy was still in the car with her, and that she would have to kill him before she let him touch her neck. Being attracted to the man she was supposed to bring down couldn't be healthy, but it was safer than actually acting upon the attraction. She could allow herself the occasional erotic image, yes, but as long as it remained fictional. And as long as it didn't interfere with her job. 

However, it already _was_ interfering. Finding Malfoy irresistible was frustrating her, and therefore Malfoy himself was frustrating her. Perhaps the combination of Malfoy _trying _to get on her nerves and succeeding, but not trying to turn her on and yet succeeding in that aspect as well . . . perhaps that was what was driving her mad . . .

Oh, who the hell was she kidding. She was thinking too much about nothing. It wasn't her attraction to him. Draco Malfoy simply didn't mesh well with her. Their personalities just clashed.

_Get over it, _she ordered herself. _This is your job. This time three months from now Malfoy will be out of your life, and you'll have a career._

She could handle the personality disagreement. And she would attempt to handle the fact that Malfoy's physical makeup attracted her. While she did so she would plan how to fool Draco, and in a matter of weeks she would be settling into her new Hit Witch job while Draco sat in Azkaban.

Ginny began smiling to herself before she realized they were nearly to her inn's street, and she had yet to invite Draco out again. Sitting up straighter, she leaned forward so she was poking between the driver and passenger's seat in the front.

"Hello, Draco," she said to get his attention. Startled, he turned his head away from the window and met her gaze. "I had a good time tonight. Shall we do this again?"

Draco blinked, almost blankly, before saying, "I'm busy tomorrow."

"Oh, good, me too," Ginny said dismissively, lying through her teeth. "I was thinking we could do something during the day. We could go to lunch in the afternoon. And you could show me around Madrid. I've been dying to see some of the Muggle sites . . ."

"When I say I'm busy," Draco said calmly, "don't you think that applies to the daytime as well?"

Ginny's stomach sank; he was saying no. But she wouldn't give up so easily. Putting on her doubtful act, she rolled her eyes. "You're the one who says your only hobbies are women. I believe a _gentleman_ of your class would only accompany women in the evening. That would leave your days free."

Sebastian pulled onto the road Ginny's inn resided on. He was a Muggle, so he couldn't see her inn; she told him to stop by that little café up the street and she'd walk the rest of the way.

Draco stared at her for a moment longer, and it seemed he was genuinely debating whether or not to say yes. Sebastian braked where Ginny had informed him to. Once he did, he picked up a magazine so he wouldn't seem like he was paying them any mind.

"Oh, come on, Draco," she said, falsely playful. "What else have you got to do besides sit around and count your money?"

He let out a loud sigh and frowned deeply. Just when she expected another rejection, he completely surprised her with a resigned, "All right, Weasley, you win."

Ginny kept her gloating in check. "Wonderful," she said, returning to the back seat. "I will see you tomorrow at two then, right here at this spot."

She got out of the car, grinning broadly. She'd completely accomplished it! Not only had she had a fairly successful first date, but she had booked another one. And Draco didn't suspect a thing. He probably thought she was just an eager little girl trying to snag his attention. 

Well, let him think that. It would be his ticket to Azkaban.

Ginny hummed the rest of the way to the Amistoso Inn.

* * *

Before Draco entered his flat, he told Sebastian firmly that he would no longer be employing him. Promising that a final paycheck would arrive for Sebastian by Muggle post, Draco slammed the car door and hurried up to his home.

He felt curiously elated, having gotten rid of a Muggle service. It was time to set his life back in order, the wizarding way.

Entering his flat, he was greeted by the sight of Blaise and Pansy, as usual lounging on his sofa. They glared at him viciously as he walked into the room.

Draco glared back. "Before you start to yell at me for leaving the party, I would just like to inform you that -"

"Oh, Draco, shut up," Pansy snarled, her countenance rivalling that of a livid tiger. Draco briefly wondered how anyone could've thought the woman resembled a canine.

"It's not all about you, you great prick," Blaise added, equally moody. "We're not furious that you left us - even though we should be; I could beat you unconscious for leaving me like that -"

Pansy, who was lying on her side on the sofa propped up by one elbow, kicked him rather hard in the stomach with her heel to silence him. Ignoring his loud curse, she turned her head back to Draco. "Tannar isn't the man we need," she said with an abruptly calm voice, though her expression was still that of utter venom. 

"So that's all that's got you in a foul mood?" Draco asked, sinking into his favorite large chair. "We're back to where we were before. It's not that much of a setback."

Blaise snorted cynically. "Oh, we're set way back, mate. _Way_ back."

Draco stared at the two, waiting for more. Pansy fumed silently, narrowed eyes on the carpet, while Blaise gnawed on his thumbnail, a habit that infuriated Draco beyond all comprehension. Gritting his teeth, he said slowly, "Well? Are you going to explain or am I going to have to guess randomly?"

Pansy sighed heatedly and sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the sofa. Her hair was beginning to tumble out of its fastenings, but it only looked stylishly ruffled. "We needed Tannar because we wanted to know the exact layout of the prison," she began with a collected tone that clearly tried to smother rage. "He's the only man alive who knows the layout from memory, and has to have the blueprints in his home. Am I right?"

Draco nodded once, ready for her to get to her point.

"Wrong," she hissed vehemently, her normally blue eyes clouded over and dark. "I'm _wrong. _The man could give a shit _less_ about the layout of Azkaban."

Draco stared, trying to figure out where she was going with this. "So . . . he doesn't have any blueprints."

"None whatsoever," Blaise put in dully.

"So? We just do some research, figure out where the blueprints are, and steal them," Draco said simply, but he had a feeling that it wasn't that easy. Pansy and Blaise were effortlessly angered, but they rarely got as deadly as they were now. They were beyond sheer anger. 

"Oh, we _know_ where the blueprints are," Pansy said disdainfully. "I managed to get that much out of Tannar before he started whining about how his wife would disapprove of his contact with me and asked me to leave. . . ."

"Where are the blueprints?" Draco interrupted impatiently.

Blaise scowled, while Pansy smiled coldly. "Athens," she stated primly, crossing her legs and placing her hands in her lap. 

". . . Greece?" Draco incited.

"You imbecile, Draco. Yes, Greece," Blaise snapped. 

Draco let out a breath, leaning back in his chair. Athens, Greece, was quite a trip from Madrid. "Why would blueprints for an English prison be in Greece?" he said.

"Turns out the bastard Tannar's been paranoid about the security of Azkaban since that whole Voldemort business," Blaise said. "Got more brains than we gave him credit for. He's not taking any more chances; he paid a relative to keep the blueprints in his villa in Greece. Far, far from England . . . and outrageously safe. It was as if Tannar was_ expecting _someone would try and get the prints and use them for a break out," he finished with a dark sneer.

"And the blueprints are not easy to get to, either," said Pansy. "'Protection around the blueprints is rather sound, so don't you worry about a thing; no Dark Wizards will be on the loose to harm you'," she mimicked dourly. "His exact words. Fucking jerk."

Draco inhaled deeply, trying to think this through. His body was starting to shut down; he desperately wanted to go to sleep. "Let's think for a minute," he said, releasing the air loudly. "Do we _absolutely_ need these blueprints?"

Pansy and Blaise both nodded immediately. "Without them we won't have a clue where Pansy will end up," Blaise told Draco. "She could be placed somewhere on the top level of the prison, in the middle . . . We _need_ her in the basement. We need to know where to have her sent -"

"Okay, okay," Draco cut in. "I understand. We need the bloody prints. We'll just have to go to Athens and get them."

"Yeah, but this fucks everything up," Blaise swore. "We'll have to _plan_. It won't require as much work as the whole Azkaban plan has, but it will take some thinking. It could take a week, two weeks, a month. . . ."

"And we don't have a month to waste," Pansy declared. "We need this done as soon as possible. I say we all head for the Ministry's tomorrow, find out all the information we need about what's guarding the blueprints. We can leave for Greece in a couple of days, perhaps even tomorrow if we're quick enough."

"I can't," Draco said automatically.

"Can't what? Research with us or go to Greece?" Pansy demanded distrustfully.

Draco scowled. He had to meet Weasley for lunch tomorrow. Not that it was really something worth cancelling a vital Plan researching trip for, but it was quite necessary. 

Weasley'd been too adamant about seeing him again. In fact, she'd been far too . . . pleasant the whole time. He hadn't insulted her enough. The only reason he'd agreed on seeing her so soon was because he needed to be firmer. More bastardly. Make her back off slightly. She needed to be put in her place . . . a place far from him.

"I have to deal with Weasley tomorrow," he said finally. "We can leave tomorrow night. That'll give you a little more time for research. As for tonight, I'm going to sleep." He was fighting to keep his eyes open; he wouldn't be much use to anyone tonight, he could feel it.

Pansy's eyebrows were raised. "Weasley?" she repeated. "Draco, she's here because she's not supposed to get in our way. She won't stop us from doing this. We'll leave in the morning," she concluded firmly.

"Look, Pansy, I just need to see her one more time," he said. "I need crush her a bit more. I think I was too nice to her tonight. If I don't do anything, then she'll be looking for me and she might follow us to Greece."

"You give her too much credit, Draco," said Pansy icily. "She'll have no way of knowing you went to Greece."

"Better safe," he replied simply.

Blaise yawned and spoke at the same time. "Come on, Pans, if he wants to spend a lovely day with Weasley, then let him. If we leave tomorrow night, we won't be setback _that_ much. It'll let us get a decent night's sleep tonight, and we can research tomorrow while Draco cavorts around with his little weasel."

Pansy glowered, but reluctantly agreed. "Fine. We leave tomorrow night, no later than seven o'clock. You two can have your precious sleep tonight."

Without another word, she Disapparated with a loud pop. Draco jumped slightly, surprised that she'd left so suddenly. 

Blaise turned and grinned lazily at Draco. "So how was your date, Malfoy?" he asked slickly. 

Draco glared at him, stood up, and strode into his bedroom. "I'm going to sleep," he said grumpily.

* * *

**A/N:** Not only did this chapter take forever to come out, but I didn't have time to do thank yous. Next chapter I will, I promise. Thank you so much for reviewing anyway.

 Sorry for being so slack, but school is retarded. What can I say.

Hopefully the next chapter will come out much sooner than this one did! 


	6. Tourists

A/N: Wow, guys. I definitely should be shot and trampled for taking so long getting this out. I sincerely apologize. My inspiration, however, has returned, so I do believe chapter seven will be out sooner than two months from now. Hopefully even within a couple of weeks. Incredibly sorry for the wait.

Disclaimer: Not mine, JK Rowling's.

Huge thanks to Elaine for beta'ing this for me. Feel better soon, darling!

**Chapter Six**

****

**_Tourists_**

_Tuesday, 11 March, 2003_

The next day Ginny was nervous. She hurried about her room, hair still damp from the shower she'd taken, wearing a knee-length light blue skirt and no shirt. She was having trouble deciding which one to wear . . . and how should she have her hair? How much makeup should she apply?

To be honest, she felt absolutely silly worrying about how she looked for Draco. It was all well and nice to have a good appearance – that would attract him, of course. But actually _worrying_? Actually hoping to impress him because she _wanted_ his approval for her own purposes and not that of her job?

She was losing it.

Finally, at twelve thirty, Ginny settled on tying her hair back with a large satin ribbon that matched her skirt, and a simple white top. Then she had nothing to do for an hour.

She decided to read, and somehow managed to pass the time; however, she read about three pages in sixty minutes. At a quarter till two, Ginny checked her appearance one last time, approved, and left her room to hurry outside.

Having fifteen minutes to kill, she strolled along the street. Two shops down from her inn was a café, and she took a seat an outdoor table to wait. Courtesy of her Spanish-English dictionary, she ordered a cup of coffee and attempted to enjoy the lovely weather.

The combination of the coffee and warm air calmed her nerves somewhat until she only felt slightly jittery. Nonetheless, she couldn't help feeling that this time around she would somehow destroy everything she'd created last night; that she would one way or another let something slip and wouldn't be able to recover. 

It was true that last night she hadn't completely worked her magic – for lack of better words – by claiming she wrote biographies for a living. It had been her own fault that she hadn't thought of a false profession beforehand, and now she cringed every time she thought of how stupid she'd been. But Draco had seemed to buy the lie, albeit mockingly. Everything had worked out in the end.

So what if she made a huge mistake today? 

_No use in worrying about it_, she thought firmly, taking a sip of her coffee. _If it happens, then I'll deal with it. I've got enough to fuss about as it is; I don't need something that hasn't happened to trouble me, too._

She was able to almost relax then, and her mind drifted to other things. How was work going in her absence? Was Creedmoore fairing without her? She knew she'd need to update him on the Malfoy situation shortly, but before she did so she wanted to research the black-haired man she'd seen with him and figure out who he was. She'd work on that later tonight, after she and Malfoy parted company.

Two o'clock trickled by. Ginny's restlessness started to escalade back to hand-wringing anxiousness. She began to glance at her watch frequently, noticing with each passing minute that he was late. She _had_ said two o'clock, hadn't she?

By ten past she was just about panicking. He was certainly late now. Had he only agreed to meet her the night before so she would get out of the car and leave him alone? Had he no intentions of showing up at all?

At two twenty, Ginny's worries melted into anger. What kind of . . . of _adult _agreed to meet someone when he really planned on doing nothing of the sort? _Draco__ Malfoy, that's what_, she sulked, furiously demanding another cup of coffee at the unsuspecting waitress.

Half of Ginny – the more reasonable and optimistic half – thought maybe there was a decent explanation for his absence. It was possible he'd forgotten where her inn was – _but Sebastian would certainly remember_, her other half argued. Or he could've misunderstood her; maybe he thought she'd said one o'clock, or even three. _He heard me, _raged the annoyed part of her, _he heard me loud and clear._

Leave it to Draco Malfoy to complicate her job. As if it wasn't impossible enough already. If he didn't show up, then what would she do? She had no idea where he lived. She would have an incredibly tough time trying to find him again. Stumbling upon him the first time had been simple, unadulterated luck. Fate had been with her. There was no way she could be so fortunate a second time.

Two-thirty came around, and Ginny's eyes were just about tearing up with anger. How _dare_ he stand her up like this. If she _ever _set eyes on him again she would stun him in two seconds flat, throw him in a trunk, and ship his bloody arse to Azkaban. That is, if she didn't loose all control and kill him first.

In spite of her trembling fury, she remained at the café and kept her sight on the street, hoping to see his black car driving past. Clearly, regardless, she still believed there was a sliver of a chance that he would show up after all.

It was two forty-five when he finally did decide to grace her with his presence. She had just happened to be scanning the nearby pavement when he appeared, so suddenly that it was evident he'd Apparated. Pretty risky, to Apparate in a street full of Muggles, but by the look on his face he couldn't have cared less. 

Ginny momentarily forgot her supreme irritation with his tardiness when she laid her eyes on him. In the sunlight he was even more attractive than she remembered. He was dressed casually – at least compared to the previous evening – in gray trousers and a black shirt. His longish blond hair flew across his forehead in the slight breeze, making Ginny wonder why God gave such a beautiful face to such an ugly person. 

He hadn't spotted her yet; he slipped his hands into his pockets and began to stride by the café, looking as though he had a destination. Ginny gathered her wits about her and her anger flew back in full force.

"Draco!" she called, waving at him.

He turned his head, saw her, and gave a slight smirk. She wanted to smack him. He took a seat at her table, across from her, and seemed interested in anything but her.

"I said two o'clock," she said tightly, trying to stay calm. He didn't respond; he didn't even look at her. "It's two forty-five," she added through gritted teeth. Good God, they'd only been together for thirty seconds and already she wanted to commit a heinous murder. 

At that he met her eyes nonchalantly. "So it is," he agreed, and reached for her coffee cup. She opened her mouth to stop him, but before she got a word out he was drinking from it. She wasn't quite sure how to react. What made him think they were chummy enough to share drinks? Yeah, she'd eaten his food last night, but that was different. He hadn't been sucking on the chicken that she'd eaten. 

"Have the rest of it," she told him coldly, crossing her arms and looking away.

"No thank you," he replied pleasantly; damn him, he was grinning. "Coffee stains my teeth."

_Then why did you drink it! _she wondered crossly, but said nothing. She fumed, trying desperately to simmer down. It wouldn't help the situation if she was snappy and touchy with him from the start. If there was any chance of making Malfoy fall in love with her – or even in like, well enough that he'd follow her back to England – then it certainly wouldn't be because of her anger. In fact, being openly furious would only increase failure of keeping his attentions. She would need to ensnare him by being witty, warm, and delightful.

Ha. Ha.

Ginny ordered herself to focus, and fixed on her face what she hoped was a tolerant smile. She didn't want to seem as though she'd switched moods in an instant, but she also didn't want to appear to still be aggravated. As a result she felt rather idiotic-looking, and immediately dropped the smile and pressed her lips together.

"Well," she said transitionally, "ready go to?"

Draco didn't answer; he stood wordlessly. Ginny slipped some money underneath the coffee cup before following the suit. He turned and stepped onto the pavement as she hurried beside him. Together, they walked along, so close Ginny could've grabbed his hand if she'd wanted to. 

She didn't want to.

"So," Ginny said airily, glancing over at him, "where are you taking me first?"

Draco met her gaze, an eyebrow raised elegantly. Ginny was beginning to envy his grace. "Pardon?" he asked, sounding slightly surprised.

_Patience, Ginny love_, she thought resolutely. "You agreed to take me on a tour of Muggle Madrid," she reminded him. She nudged his arm and grinned - quite obnoxiously, if she did admit so herself. "Remember?"

He stared away for a moment, that single damned eyebrow still arched, before he relaxed it and ran his tongue over his lower lip. Ginny found her eyes attracted to his mouth, nearly stumbled off the curb, and then snapped back to attention. 

He looked back at her. "I don't _know_ Muggle Madrid," he informed her cleanly.

Ginny faced forward, trying to decide how to respond to that. Hadn't she invited him to go out so they could tour the city? She thought back to the previous evening, and though the entire night was pretty much a blur, with only a few conversation points sticking out in her mind, she was almost positive she had mentioned that she wanted to see the Muggle sites. 

_First he's nearly an hour late, _she mused, _and now he's telling me he doesn't listen to me. _

Even her worst boyfriends had never been this horrible on the second date. It was safe to say that Ginny would be immensely relieved once this entire business with Malfoy and getting him back to England was over.

"All right . . ." Ginny said at last, racking her brain for something else to say. "Then I suppose we can go and ask someone where they would suggest going that's interesting. . . ."

"I thought we were getting lunch," Draco interrupted.

Food. In the two instances she'd been with him, he'd been thinking with his stomach. "No wonder you don't have any hobbies," Ginny said in a kidding manner. "You spend all your time eating and wondering when you can eat next."

The look Draco gave her was disdainful. "That's it, Weasley," he replied sadistically. "You now completely know me."

All right, the joke was bad. But did he have to be so cruel about it? Ginny narrowed her eyes and glanced away from him, speculating for the millionth time how someone could be so rude.

There was a long pause. In the silence, Ginny quickly settled on a form of action. "Well then, Draco," she said, overly bright, "since _you_ didn't do your homework –" She poked him in the ribs, receiving a death glare in return, " - we'll go to that Muggle tourist shop over there and buy a book on spots to visit."

Draco didn't respond. 

It was the same tourist shop Ginny had been in a couple of days before, but Draco dealt with the money transactions and the language barrier so it wasn't as bad. In under ten minutes they were on the move again. Ginny had the (English) tourist book open and was flipping through it, keeping up with Draco out of the corner of her eye. He took long strides and she was practically jogging to stay with him. It seemed he was trying to lose her. Then again, that wouldn't come as a shock.

"Places of interest," she read out loud, glancing up briefly to dodge an oncoming man who clearly had no intentions of getting out of her way. "Museums," she continued, "Museo del Prado - open 9 a.m. to 7 p.m., Sunday 9 . . . et cetera, et cetera . . . 'The Museo del Prado, founded as a museum of paintings and sculpture, also has important collections of drawings (more than 5,000), prints (2,000), coins and medals (around 1,000), and almost 2,000 decorative objects and works of art. Sculpture is represented by more than 700 works and by a smaller number of sculptural fragments. . . ." Ginny trailed off, looked up again, and saw that Draco was a good ten strides ahead of her. Great, people probably thought she was talking to herself. She ran to catch up. "Let's go here, Draco," she said, keeping her annoyance at bay. "I have the address for it." She paused. "Where's your car?"

Draco slowed slightly so she could keep pace with him at a mild sprint. "I don't have a car," he said shortly. "It'll be quicker to Apparate there."

Without another beat, he vanished with a loud pop. People walking by looked around, startled. Ginny stopped walking, waiting for people to stop glancing about, and let out a frustrated groan. Draco seemed to be in super-annoying mode today. How was she going to stand it?

After a couple of seconds, once she felt it was safe, Ginny Disapparated.

* * *

Spending time with Weasley in a Muggle art museum . . . that was certainly the stuff suicides were made of. Draco wondered if he would be completely sane by the end of the day. 

_I shouldn't have come_, he thought foully. He'd assumed arriving nearly an hour late would be satisfactory – and in a way, it was; he'd brassed Ginny off quite thoroughly – but now he realized he shouldn't have come at all. 

What made him think he had to see Ginny to get her off his back? He could very well just avoid her. If he kept evading her, or just kept agreeing to meet her and never show up, eventually she'd start to lose heart. In fact, by meeting her he was probably only strengthening her confidence. No matter how mad he could make her, she still wouldn't give up if she knew there was a chance she could get him to be nice to her. The only way to dash her hopes of that would be to _not show up._

And yet . . . there had to have been _some_ reason he'd come today. He wasn't that thick. He'd known there was the choice of just staying away from her. But he'd chosen to see her, and what for? 

Even more pressing was the fact that if he didn't want to be here, then why didn't he just leave? He could easily Disapparate and Ginny wouldn't have a clue as to where he went. She'd be stuck.

_But eventually, she'd find you_, a little voice told him snidely. _She found you once and she can do it again._

Draco scowled deeply. He was beginning to doubt Pansy; maybe Weasley wasn't the most incompetent Hit Witch out there. Maybe Pansy had fucked up, plain and simple. 

And of course it was now his problem to deal with. 

_Go ahead with the original plan_, he said to himself. _Make yourself miserable company. Eventually she won't be able to stand it and she'll leave you alone._

Problem solved.

Or maybe not. He still had to go into this blasted museum. He stood on the steps, staring at the doors; it was surprisingly busy. People strolled in and out, some single, some coupled. A gaggle of students on a class field trip made their way inside, all chattering excitedly among the hushes of their instructors. Behind him, he felt rather than heard Ginny approach, standing only a step below him.

"Thanks for waiting," she said, sarcastically cheerful. 

"Anytime," Draco replied over his shoulder. 

"Well. Shall we go in?" She stepped up so she was beside him. He could feel her looking at him, but he didn't take his eyes away from the building.

"No," he answered simply.

Ginny hesitated a beat. "No?" she repeated, slightly astonished.

What made him think he had to go in there? If she wanted to see the city, then he'd show her the city. On foot. She could walk behind him (or in front of him, whichever she preferred) and take in the sites. But he didn't have to go into a museum with her. He wasn't obligated to do anything. 

Draco turned his head and grinned at her startled face. "I don't want to go," he said childishly, before remembering that his grins made him look devastatingly handsome (more so than usual, of course) and dropped it quickly. He was supposed to be moody, dark, and sharply cruel if he wanted to get her to back off. "It's going to be dull," he added sullenly.

"Oh, come on," she said lightly, smiling back at him. Yet he could see her muscles tense, giving away her exasperation. "It won't be that bad. Besides, you'll have me to insult and complain to."

She grabbed his hand and started up the rest of the steps into the museum, tugging him after her. He relented and followed for one reason only – he had suddenly turned into a spineless bastard was allowing her to persuade him into it. 

_What am I doing_? he wondered as they entered the cool air of the museum. _I'm only encouraging her. I don't want to do this. I want to be at home, doing nothing, worrying about nothing . . ._

But he ignored his thoughts. It could've been because he was actually looking forward to complaining to and insulting Weasley. After all, it was a great opportunity to get her to stop bothering him. He knew he could be unmanageable and horrible to be around; a person could only take so much foul Malfoy. 

Yet that couldn't have been the reason. He couldn't have been looking forward to spending time with Ginny. 

Er, Weasley.

* * *

Ten minutes into touring the museum, Draco had managed not only to complain like a whiny little girl about thirteen different times, but he'd also tried to insult Ginny on her pathetic monetary circumstances and abundance of family members about twenty times. He really was getting bad at insulting her, she found, because he reused the same material. 

"You know, Draco," she said finally, pausing in the middle of an exhibit and turning to him, head tilted to one side, "you really need to find some new insult strategies. I mean, maybe if I was still thirteen you could've offended me. But I'm not, so your insults just seem kind of . . . no,_ really _stupid."

She congratulated herself on taking the upper hand of the situation by sounding so cool and reserved. Unfortunately, Malfoy barely batted an eyelash. He smiled, almost serenely, and replied slowly, "If it truly wasn't bothering you, Weasley, you wouldn't have said anything."

Ginny sighed and resumed strolling through the exhibit, barely stopping in front of paintings or display cases. As Draco continued to make cheap shots - such as saying "Look, your family's life savings" as they passed by a display of ancient coins, or "You should become a painter, Weasley; maybe your family will make some money off your art when you die" - she tried to think of a way to change the subject. She was sure Malfoy was getting endless joy out of saying pathetically childish things to her, but she was getting irked. She couldn't let him have fun at her expense.

"You know what, Draco, I think I'm done in here," she announced suddenly, spinning on him. "Let's go to lunch, shall we?"

He shrugged lazily. "I suppose."

"Come on, let's go," she said, beckoning him towards the exit. "Do you know any good restaurants?"

"No," he answered simply.

They stepped out into the sunshine, the warm air outside contrasting vividly from the air conditioned air of the museum. Ginny felt her spirits lift at the sight of the beautiful day. If Draco wasn't willing to take her to any place specific, they could just walk around the city all day, taking in the sights. Maybe she'd suggest that during lunch.

"Then we'll just try whatever looks good then. Sound good?" she asked perkily.

He barely acknowledged that she'd spoken. Smothering a sigh, she started down the steps, seeing him follow beside and slightly behind her from the corner of her eye. Once they reached the pavement, Ginny was desperate for a subject to discuss. What was something they both could relate to?

"Have you been keeping up with the wizarding world?" Ginny asked politely.

"No."

"Why not?" She tried to make it sound like she was innocently curious, throwing a glance at him. He was staring ahead, his face stony and unreadable. When she turned to him, he noticed and caught her eyes, smirking.

"Did it ever occur to you, Weasley, that maybe I left the wizarding world for a reason?" he said, quirking an eyebrow.

Odd response. She hadn't asked him why he'd left the wizarding world, even remotely. "What reason would that be?"

"If I had wanted you to know, I would've told you already," he replied delicately. 

"Oh, come on," she coaxed, trying not to grin. She knew very well why he'd left the wizarding world, but it would be amusing to force him to tell her and see what his response was. "Quit trying to be so mysterious. Contrary to popular belief, it's not a sexy trait."

"I don't need mysteriousness to be sexy," he said arrogantly. He flicked a finger across his forehead to get rid of some loose strands of hair for effect. 

Ginny found a laugh escaping her at his gesture. "Right, Draco." He looked at her, his eyebrows slightly raised, as though surprised. Abruptly uncomfortable by his expression, she cleared her throat and pointed to a random restaurant. "Why don't we try there?" she suggested, and threw him a smile.

A few minutes later they were seated inside and scanning their menus. Of course, the writing was in Spanish. Ginny asked Draco, courteously with a smile, to read the entrees out loud. He shot her an aggravated look and said almost primly, "I'm not your interpreter, Weasley. Figure it out yourself."

Ginny gaped at him as he returned to his menu. "Draco, I can't _read_ Spanish," she embellished, in case he had forgotten.

"Why did you choose to come to Spain, then, if you don't know the language?" he said calmly without looking up.

She gritted her teeth. Why, why, why, _why_ was she charged with the single most bothersome, infuriating, cold-hearted man on the planet? 

When she didn't reply, he looked up, sneering. "No, I would like an answer," he told her plainly. "Of all the places in the world, of all the English speaking countries in the world, why did you choose to come here where you don't know the language?"

Ginny thought. _Good question, _she realized. Her mind raced for a probable answer while other parts of her seethed. It was almost as if he purposely was trying to make her squirm. He seemed to pick the exact questions that she had to make up lies about...

Ginny suddenly thought of something with a sickening thud in her stomach. What if . . . what if Draco _knew _she was undercover for the Ministry?

"I - I . . . it was the farthest place away that I could afford, and I wanted to go as far as I could," she said, extremely lamely. She felt slightly sick, and very panicked, and stood up clumsily. "I need to use the toilet," she mumbled, and all but sprinted to the ladies' room.

It wasn't empty, but people were in stalls, allowing her a private moment to think. Ginny placed her hands on the counter and leaned forward, studying her pale reflection. _Oh, God, what if he knows?_ she thought frantically. Hadn't Creedmoore mentioned that he'd evaded the Ministry eleven times already, and hadn't she asked why this time would be any different? _"We don't," _Creedmoore had said. But the Ministry wanted her to try anyway.

It would almost make sense if he knew. The only thing he'd seemed interested last night was her occupation, after all. He had enjoyed seeing her struggle. Now he was asking a question she couldn't answer without lying. And he had pressed the issue. It would seem, to even the most oblivious of people, that he knew what she was up to.

But then . . . it made no sense at all. If he knew the Ministry had discovered him in Spain, then why hadn't he packed up and left the country the minute he'd found out? Even if he just saw her for the first time and assumed she worked for the Ministry, then why did he show up today at all? Why would he bother to see her again?

_He can't know, _she told herself firmly. _He wouldn't agree to seeing me a second time if he even suspected I was here to take him to jail._

Some of Ginny's alarm drained away, but she still felt edgy. A woman came out of the stall and smiled at her, and Ginny pretended to be washing her hands. Quickly, she figured out what she'd do. She would return to the table like nothing was wrong – if he seemed concerned and asked her what happened, she'd just tell the truth; she felt sick and needed to use the toilet. But she doubted he would even acknowledge that she returned to the table. Then, for the rest of their time together, she would act normally. If he knew she worked for the Ministry - _which he probably doesn't,_ she added hopefully – he would avoid her sooner or later. For now, she would just go on the assumption he had no clue. Meanwhile, she'd be on her guard; she'd notice any small hints or signals that gave away he knew what she was doing. 

Feeling somewhat stronger, she returned to the table. Draco, just as she'd envisioned, merely glanced up with a blank expression as she sat down, then lowered his eyes back to his menu. She picked up hers again and tried to concentrate on it, but she'd lost her appetite. Since she couldn't read the words anyway, she decided not to order. She felt a little awkward about not eating anything, and wished she could've brought her Spanish-English dictionary to at least order something, even if she would only peck at it – yet she'd left her pocketbook which contained the book back in her room, thinking she wouldn't need anything from it. She hadn't even brought her wand. 

When the waiter came to take their food orders, Draco threw Ginny another glare. "You're not eating my food this time," he warned bluntly. "Are you sure you don't want anything?"

Ginny stared back, trying to seem just as cold. "I would love to, Draco, but unfortunately I don't know what they have here." Then she handed her menu to the waiter and smiled sweetly.

"Fine," Draco said, relaxing his glare and shrugging as the waiter left. "Starve."

Ginny contemplated him for a moment, pressing her lips together. He seemed not to notice, leaning back in his chair and surveying the restaurant. "You know, Draco," she said thoughtfully after a moment, catching his eyes, "maybe you wouldn't be so alone if you weren't such miserable company."

Both eyebrows shot up, but he grinned easily at her. "Alone?" he repeated slowly. "I'm not alone."

"Oh?" Ginny said sceptically, trying to ignore the way her cheeks felt flushed whenever he smiled like that. "Tell me about some of your mates, then."

His mood turned reflective then, and he propped his elbow up on the arm of his chair and rested his chin on his thumb, pressing his fingers to his lips. A second of silence passed and she waited patiently, half expecting him not to answer the question. Then he straightened and drawled, "They're . . . like me."

"Rich, conceited, and malicious?" she offered with a tight smile.

He returned her smile. "I never knew you thought so highly of me, Weasley."

"I only speak the truth," she said offhandedly. "I've never heard of or seen you do one nice thing for anyone."

He nodded once, soberly, agreeing with her. "I'm not a nice person," he said simply. "If you don't like it, then just leave me alone."

They held each other's gaze for a long while. Ginny felt chilled by the careless and frosty look in his eyes, wondering if maybe he was warning her. _Leave me alone. _If that's truly what he felt, then why had he shown up today? She pondered why, after worrying so much on whether he would come or not, she kept questioning why he had. 

_He did agree to_, she thought. _But did he want to?_

It didn't really matter, though, did it? He had shown up, he was here, and he hadn't left yet. So why was she making a big deal out of nothing?

Ginny pushed her troubling thoughts away and focused on the situation at hand. "I can't leave you alone," she responded, folding her arms on the table and leaning forward. "I'm too interested in you."

"Interested?" At this, his serious expression vanished and he smiled. "More like drawn to my undeniable good looks and sex appeal."

Ginny laughed at his confidence. The way he praised himself was the one thing she found she was enjoying about him, which she viewed as kind of strange. "You don't need me to think highly of you," she said. "Your own opinions are enough to make anyone arrogant."

He lifted his glass and took a drink, raising his eyebrows and dropping them rapidly as if to say "You know it". It was the first somewhat positive thing he'd done in response to one of her light-hearted comments, and her confidence soared. Maybe they were finally getting somewhere.

"Where are we headed to next?" Ginny asked conversationally, changing subjects. 

"Anything but a museum." He narrowed his eyes at her accusingly, blaming her for wasting a good half hour of his life. 

She laughed again – three times in one day, she was on a roll. "No, that museum was dull, I'll give you that. I was thinking maybe we could just walk," she added casually. "You know, there's got to be some historical sites in this city. We could just wander around until we come across one we find interesting."

He was staring at her with an odd expression now. It was almost as if he was alarmed. His eyes were slightly wider than usual. "Disapparating is much quicker than walking," he stated.

"Yes, I know," she said, realizing that he didn't want to spend any more time than was necessary with her. Once again, that thought popped up – _why did he come? _"But it's such a nice day. And besides, I threw that tour book away."

Draco looked a bit startled. "Why?"

She shrugged. The truth was she still had it; it was right in the chair beside her. Had Draco been paying any attention, he would've seen it in her hand when they entered the restaurant. But clearly, he hadn't, and couldn't see it on the chair. Hopefully he wouldn't ever. "I don't know," she replied unthinkingly. "But since we don't know what there is to visit, we should just walk around until we find something."

"I told you I have things to do," he said sharply, looking dark. He changed moods remarkably – he'd gone from playful, to pensive, back to playful, and to furious all within fifteen minutes. "I don't really have time to walk around the entire city."

"Just for an hour or so," she told him airily. "I promise I won't take up all your precious time." She paused. "To be honest," she went on, smoothing the napkin in her lap, "I can't imagine what you're rushing home to do. I don't really get the feeling your schedule is action packed."

"Then I suppose you'll have to use your imagination a bit better," he retorted foully. 

"Are you so afraid of telling me what you do?" she asked, somewhat exasperatedly.

"Afraid? No, I just don't want to tell you," he said dourly, frowning. "I don't _have_ to tell you anything, you know, Weasley. Sometimes I think you forget that."

"No, you don't have to tell me anything about yourself," she replied stingily, 

straightening her spine. "I can see quite plainly you're just a pathetic, pouty, cold man who's completely alone in the world."

"Can you see all that?" he asked, amazed, with a straight face. 

He was beginning to infuriate her again. What kind of power did he possess that made him dig annoyingly under her nails so easily, and then in the next instant, he'd grin and make her heart jerk with his beauty? _Whatever it is, _she thought determinedly, _I can handle it. I'll deal with it, and I'll do such a good job, he won't be able to help but fancy me in return._

* * *

Draco's food came, and he ate it all himself, thankful that Ginny didn't try and steal any of it. He was honestly hungry, and at the moment, easily aggravated when it came to Weasley. She would be wise not to mess with him today.

As he ate, Ginny chatted mindlessly about the wizarding world. She spoke of politics – who the new Minister of Magic was, since it had changed in the past five years – and of entertainment – the newest singing groups, especially the ones she enjoyed – and of her family – all her brothers and her parents, as well as some cousins and aunts and uncles. It was stunning, really, how she could just jump from one topic to another. To his impatience, he found himself listening. And almost anticipating what she would say next. While her family tales were lacking excitement, he discovered he was clinging on to every word she spoke of the wizarding world. He'd almost forgotten how much he missed it.

_Soon, _he reminded himself. _Soon you'll be back in that world, and you'll be a normal citizen again._

He was reluctant to leave the restaurant, because he wasn't happy about having to walk around the whole city with her. Even the bright, warm day didn't make him feel any better about it, and then Ginny threaded her arm through his as they strolled along the pavement. He didn't pull away, but he gritted his teeth and tried to tell himself it wasn't a big issue. She could hold onto his arm if she very well wanted, but she wasn't going to get anything in return. His arm hung limply at his side and she didn't seem to mind; she almost hugged it to her as they walked ahead.

Just as in the restaurant, she talked constantly. Oddly enough, it wasn't nervous babble, either. She was speaking to him as if he were replying and holding a conversation with her. Sometimes she'd pause for a few minutes, perfectly at ease with the silence, before starting up on a new topic. 

Of course, he listened to her, just as he had in the restaurant. He explained his behavior by telling himself he was simply eager to hear anything about the wizarding world, even if Weasley was telling him. But the truth was she had the type of voice and enunciation that demanded his attention. She spoke of her opinions on officials in charge of the wizarding world, describing them first, before telling her reasons for liking or not liking what they did. And everything she said was logical and intelligent.

Certainly not the prattle of an incompetent woman.

Draco found he should've have been alarmed by all of this; of Ginny's arm securely wrapped around his, of her sharp and smart comments, and most of all her sudden ease in being with him. He should've been worrying about insulting her; about making her feel inadequate and getting her to back off. But he wasn't. In fact, he was finding the afternoon almost pleasant; certainly more . . . remarkable than playing cards with Blaise in the kitchen. 

Of course, he was beginning to realize his tactic was failing. He'd tried, all through the museum, to insult Ginny. And he'd learned that he'd lost his knack for it. Either his abuse back at Hogwarts had been much wittier and hurtful and he no longer possessed the talent, or it had been so childish it only stung children and that very same wit just simply didn't work with adults. 

Yet another thing he should've been worried about – figuring out a way to get Ginny away from him. 

He didn't feel worried in the slightest.

They walked for a while. Ginny would sometimes take a break in her stories and analysis's of people to point out something that looked interesting, but she'd never suggest they inspect it closer or go inside. She seemed content just walking and talking, even if she thought it was only to herself. After all, Draco tried to give the appearance of not listening. 

Ginny finally declared she was dying of thirst, and they stopped at a vendor to buy a bottle of water. Since Draco was the one who spoke Spanish, he requested what they wanted, and naturally paid for it. They resumed their walk and Ginny twisted the top off the bottle, throwing Draco a wide smile. "Thank you," she said.

He smiled back before he realized it. Looking perfectly happy, she took his arm again and launched into a story of how her brother Percy had once done a ten-parchment essay on the earth's water supply and how Muggles were polluting it as summer extra-credit for Muggle Studies, and how her twin brothers bewitched the report to turn into liquid the moment anyone touched it again, and explained in surprising detail the colors Percy's face had turned when he went to owl it to Hogwarts and all his hard work melted right in his fingers and how horribly her mother had punished the twins. 

The sun's light was starting to weaken when Draco finally began to realize how long they'd been walking. He couldn't believe it was almost sundown and he hadn't noticed the time passing by. This distressed him more than anything, and finally, worry rushed over him like a wave. He stopped moving abruptly, which made Ginny take her arm back and turn to him, looking curious.

"What's wrong?" she asked with a light smile.

"I have to go," he said curtly. 

"Oh." Her smile faded. "Well, when can I see you again? Today was fun."

Fun . . . he hated how he actually agreed with her. He wasn't sure how to react, so he kept his face blank. "I'm busy for a while," he replied. 

Her eyes, which had been bright for the entire afternoon, were finally starting to darken. _I should Disapparate now, _he thought. _Disapparate__ and she'll never find me . . . at least not for a while. I'll have time to think, to get my act together._

But he remained.

"You said you were busy today," she reminded him, "but you still managed to spend a good four hours with me."

Ah, four hours. How could he have lost track of time so easily? What was _wrong_ with him? If he wasn't careful, he would ruin everything . . . he would let her get too close, and ruin The Plan. So why didn't he just leave _right now_? 

"I shouldn't have," he snapped, angry with her. "I have to leave."

She looked horrified for a moment, as though he were slipping right through her fingers. _I am_, he realized. _She has me now, but I'm going to leave her and then avoid her. She'll have trouble finding me again, and when she does, I'll be ready for her; ready to get rid of her._

Just when he finally prepared to Disapparate, she leaped at him. That was the only way he could describe it – she closed the distance between them with a single stride and gripped both of his shoulders, pulling him to her. Then she raised herself on her toes – only a little bit, there wasn't much of a height difference between them - and pressed her mouth to his.

She kissed him.

At first, he didn't feel much – just surprised and a little panicked. But then she moved her lips, trying to get him to respond, to touch her instead of letting his arms hang there. He felt as if a wave of liquid fire had crashed into him, knocking him off balance, even though he remained completely still. Her mouth . . . warm, soft . . . her hands . . . slipping along the back of his neck, toying with his hair . . . her body . . . pressed against his, the feel of her breasts against his chest, her thighs against his thighs . . . Without thinking, he was kissing her back, gently, caressingly, his own hands rising and coming to rest on her waist. He pulled her closer to him, as close as he could manage – 

And then, as suddenly as his desire had come, the panic broke through. _What am I doing_? he screamed in his mind. He was kissing her, that's what; he was touching her, guiding her closer, completely ruining everything he was working to get rid of. It had to stop.

With considerable effort, he lifted his face from hers and dropped his hands back to his sides. He took a step back and watched as she opened her eyes slowly, her lips still parted and moist, dazedly focusing on him.

_Act casual_, he ordered himself. _Don't let her know she affected you. She can't know. She can't be aware she has power – any power – over you._

He took a deep breath and fixed a nonchalant grin on his face. _Casual_. "Cheerio," he said brightly, giving her a farewell salute. Then, before she could even register what he'd said, he Disapparated on the spot. 

* * *

A/N: Whew, okay. There it is, the chapter you've all have been (dying) anticipating for, I'm sure. 

Thank you tooooo:

**dragongirlG** (why thank you! I hope you enjoyed this date as well), **Nobodysbitch** (what can I say, Ginny's real quick. Ha, I doubt I would've been able to lie on the spot either. Sorry for the absolute zero Pansy bitchiness, she'll come to play more in the next chapter), **Leather-Winged Angel** (thank you!), **sissy-6 **(blah, I certainly didn't update quickly at all. This chapter took even longer! Terribly sorry, but thanks for your review!), **Wow** (yes, of course, Ginny will get to him even more. Otherwise, where would the plot be? Bwaha), **Calendar** (haha, yeah it will be a real shocker when she finds out he knows, but at least she's slightly suspecting it. And the date definitely went nothing like he expected), **TrinMalfoY**** (sorry this one took so long! Thanks, I'm glad my "conversations" keep you entertained, that's what I'm going for. The attraction only gets serious…er. Thanks for your loooong review!), **apple-eyes** (I'm glad you like it! It makes it worth writing, definitely. Yeah, it would be no fun if Draco immediately fell for her, so he must take his time), ****Brooke Kenobi (Aw, thanks! I love reading your reviews! Hope I don't make you procrastinate again, but if I do . . . oh well! Papers suck anyway), ****frananddragon(haha thanks! Hope this chapter was entertaining as well!), **Aejavu** (of course it's healthy. He's a very likable kinda guy….kinda. Haha, thanks for the review!), ****Lenne**** Hime (thanks, I hope you all understand. And the reason this chapter took so long was because I quite honestly lost inspiration for like, a month. But it's back now, so yay!), **Jade Summers** (there, I updated! Took me long enough, but I did!), ****FlavaOftheWeek (thanks! Sorry it took so long!), **AnonymousHGDV****** (you're quite welcome, though I'm not sure what I'm being thanked for…), ****Ili (Thank you! School is a massive J.Lo butt but (ha!) I'm getting around it. Greece does complicate things, but it also makes things more fun. Thanks for the review!), ****Vodk****@ (why thank you!), **Sandy Bottoms** (Our friend the American stripper shall play a more important role quite shortly. Next chapter, in fact. Thanks!), **Bulma****** Greenleaf (thanks, I try to write long chapters because I've found that people definitely like them better. School did delay me, but also writer's block…ahh! But it's all good now, thanks for the review!), **Sakura1287** (haha it's almost as good as when they snog shamelessly and _try_ to hate each other. Thank you!), ****VioletJersey (haha, Flamenco? I'm not sure…Ginny doesn't strike me as a dancer. But she could get drunk one night, I suppose, and do a very erotic Flamenco for Draco…hmm, the possibilities. If I ever need help in the beta area, I'll email you!), ****Miss Auburn (thanks!), ****myStiCaLYia (oh thanks! What a great review. I'm sorry this chapter took so long to get out and you were biting your nails for so long!), ****Static (thanks, I'm glad you found the story too!), **Anon** (I'll try to update regularly from now on, promise! Thank you!), ****Luinthoron**** (don't worry about taking so long to read it, cause it takes me ten times longer to update. Haha, thanks!), ****Lauren (I don't mind constructive criticism at all, and what you told me made me think a lot. Thanks for the great advice! You're absolutely right; I shouldn't be afraid to take chances. Thank you for taking time to tell me that. I will certainly put it to good use. Thanks again), **anon** (I'll try to keep it up! Thanks!).**


	7. The Ice Queen Cometh

A/N: This took a bit in coming, but not nearly as long as it took chapter 6. And muchos good news. Chapter 8 (and 9 too, can ya believe it?) is already written. Meaning I swear on my honor it will be out within a month. _Swear_. 

Thanks to:  Blaise for giving me links to Madrid sights; Elaine for checking over my American mistakes; Tia for smoothing everything over.

Disclaimer: JK Rowling.

**Chapter Seven**

**_The Ice Queen Cometh_**

_I'm in trouble._

The thought continually ran through Ginny's head as she paced her room.  She couldn't seem to sit still.  It was much more appealing to walk around her room; it cleared her head ever so slightly.

She most certainly _was_ in trouble.  Draco was gone and she hadn't one clue where she could find him.  He'd left too suddenly . . . she had hoped to follow him home and figure out where he lived, but his not showing up with his car and then him Disapparating, how _could _she have followed him. 

It wasn't even the fact that she couldn't find him.  With time she was confident she could.  But what if he left Madrid?  What if something had triggered his suspicion she worked for the Ministry into full-blown certainty, and the reason he'd left so suddenly was so he could go home, pack, and leave the country?

_But you can't be sure he even suspected anything,_ she reminded herself, twisting her fingers anxiously.  _You can't be sure he'll leave._

No, she couldn't be sure.  But it was a very real possibility.  One she would have to consider, if she wanted to be smart about this entire job. 

_So Malfoy returns home and leaves __Spain__, she mapped out in her mind. __How can I prevent this?  Her insides clenched threatening nausea as she came to the conclusion.  She couldn't prevent it. Even if she miraculously found out where Draco lived this very evening and confronted him, nothing she could say would make him change his mind about her.  If he suspected she worked for the Ministry, then she was stuck.  She might as well resign as Creedmoore's assistant – if she failed this job, she would never be able to look at him again._

"Okay, Ginny," she coaxed herself quietly.  "Let's not jump to the worst scenario.  Think of other possibilities."

The one other option would have to be that Malfoy just needed to get away from her and didn't want to see her again.  No suspicions of her working against him, no moving out of the country.  Just plain and simple dislike towards her as a person. 

_And what made him abruptly realize that he needed to get away from you_? a voice asked sweetly in her head.

_Because I kissed him_. The thought washed over her; her cold fear melted into embarrassment.  She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes, feeling her cheeks burn at the mere memory of her lunatic action.  What had she been _thinking?_

Only . . . that was precisely it.  She hadn't really been thinking.  There had been that moment of blind panic when she thought he was going to leave and she'd done the first thing that popped into her brain to get him to stay.  She'd kissed him.  She'd been acting on pure whim.  A stupid whim, at that.  And where had it gotten her?  Absolutely nowhere. She'd been left alone, just as she'd feared before she'd all but jumped on him, and instead of feeling the simple horror of possibly failing the mission, she now how to contend with mortification and shame of knowing she'd kissed him. 

Not that the kiss itself was something to be ashamed of.  She felt her embarrassment shift away and had to struggle to keep from smiling.  Ginny had kissed many men in her lifetime – ranging from a little peck on the lips with her brothers to outright snogging with her string of boyfriends – so she knew the good, she knew the bad, and how each made her feel.  And the way Draco had made her feel was quite incredible.  In the span of a few seconds she'd felt desire, abandon, excitement, fear, and nervousness, which all swirled into a mixture of one purely dominant feeling – bliss.  If she had to describe that short kiss, with scarcely any tongue and lacking in duration, it would have to be the word breathtaking.  She shivered and resumed her pacing, trying to walk off the sensation of what it would feel like if they had gone any further. 

Of course, it had been impossible to tell how Draco had been affected.  The only expression on his face had been a tint of amusement in the way his lips quirked up, and the mocking little two-fingered salute he'd given her before he'd disappeared.  But he had left rather hastily; perhaps he was afraid because he'd actually enjoyed it. . . .

_Of course he enjoyed it_, she scoffed, crossing her arms and throwing herself down into a chair, annoyed with herself for over-analyzing the situation.  _He's a man.  He enjoys women.  But he certainly didn't feel anything but_ enjoyment, I'm sure.  It was too short to be erotic and clearly he doesn't care about me.  So desire and love are not what he felt.__

But she was straying from her main focus.  That kiss wasn't important in the slightest.  She needed to figure out the basic question:  what should she do now?

She rubbed her face with her hands, sighing deeply.  Really, this entire thing was exhausting.  Why couldn't she just take the night off?  Go down to dinner with the rest of the guests, return to her room, read, perhaps have some wine brought up?  No, no, that was unacceptable.  She had to keep her mind open to the possibility that Draco knew her cover, didn't she?  She had to be aware of the fact he could be planning to leave the country that very night. 

However, a little food in her stomach would definitely help.  And a tiny break wouldn't hurt.  So Ginny dressed down into a pair of jeans and trainers, washed her face, piled her hair on top of her head, and headed downstairs.

Tonight's diners were Penelope and the Irish woman, Maili, with her son, Kevin, and his nanny, Shannon.  Ginny hadn't seen the trio since her first night there, and likewise hadn't seen Penelope since her first full day.  Then again, it hadn't been very long; she'd only been in Madrid for four days. 

_Four days?_  Ginny was slightly awed.  In a way, that seemed like such a short amount of time – when she had already gone on two dates with Malfoy, this after she'd thought it would take a good week for her to find him originally – but then again, it seemed so long.  She hadn't done a single touristy thing yet.  The closest she'd come was walking through the city. 

"Hello Ginny!" Maili greeted her warmly, smiling broadly.  "I haven't seen you in a while."

"I've been busy," Ginny answered truthfully, smiling in return.  "Hi Kevin, Shannon."

Tonight Kevin was in a better mood.  He probably didn't even remember her, but he grinned back and waved.  Shannon, however, barely grunted in reply. 

Ginny turned to Penelope, if only to greet her and be polite.  She still felt a flare of irritation when she remembered how the other girl had pried into her personal business.  Penelope grinned at her while chewing a mouthful of food and waved with her fork.  Since Ginny didn't want to seem nasty in front of Maili – who probably never held grudges and could quite possibly be the nicest person on earth – she returned with the best smile she could manage. 

"So what have you been so busy with these past couple of days, Ginny?" Maili asked amiably, squinting down at her son as she wiped some gravy off his cheeks.  He jerked his head away to continue eating.

"Work," Ginny admitted, spooning some potatoes onto her plate.  She shot a glance over at Penelope, daring her to say something, but she was currently staring pointedly at the ceiling, chewing thoughtfully.  "It's been nonstop," Ginny added.

"What do you do, if I may ask?" Maili looked across the table at her and smiled, tossing some loose strands of hair out of her eyes. 

Ginny barely skipped a beat this time.  "I write biographies," she said smoothly.

She could hear the surprise in Maili's voice.  "Biographies?"

Penelope chortled into her glass, hence calling the attention to her.  Ginny narrowed her eyes but said nothing.  Wiping her mouth dry, Penelope grinned and commented slyly, "I've never met someone who writes biographies."

_Who asked you_, Ginny thought coldly, but Maili was speaking.  "Yes, neither have I," she said. "I suppose biographists aren't a very, well, _popular."  She paused, screwing her face.  "Is that what you're called?"_

Ginny smiled uneasily, feeling both amused at how Maili seemed to disregard the fact she was mildly insulting Ginny, and also slightly guilty about lying to her.  She was, after all, a very nice woman, the complete opposite of Draco. But Ginny was already in the lie too deep, and what did it matter anyway?  In a few days they would be moving on and Ginny would never see her again.  "Yes, that's what we're called," she replied, having no idea if _biographist was even a word. _

"That's interesting," Maili said, sounding sincere.  It was probably only curiosity over what kind of odd young woman would want to waste her life writing about the lives of other people.  "You strictly write biographies?  Nothing else?"

Ginny waited until she swallowed her mouthful of food, mapping out a reply.  "Well," she said, "I've actually only written one biography.  And it's at the publisher's now.  So when it comes to my writing experience, it's not very broad."

"You be sure to let us know when the book's out in stores," Penelope insisted, pointing her fork in Ginny's direction with a mockingly serious expression. 

Maili didn't seem to notice how Ginny glared at Penelope or how Penelope was now snorting with laughter behind the back of her hand.  "Yes, do," Maili agreed. 

They were all distracted when Kevin made whooshing noises and began to pretend his fork full of potatoes was a broomstick.  "Don't, Kevin, honey," Maili scolded gently.  "Eat your food, don't play with it."

"But Mummy, it's a broom," Kevin said, grinning up at her like that statement made it all right.

"It's a fork, Kevin.  You can play with your broom when we get back to our room," she promised.  She licked her thumb and rubbed at Kevin's face, trying to wipe off some dried gravy she'd missed with the napkin.  "Look at you, you've got food all over you.  How do you manage to get more on your skin than your mouth?"

"Magic," Kevin answered proudly.

Maili looked back at Ginny and caught her smile.  "This boy can't wait to go to school," she explained with an exasperated grin.  "All he talks about is magic and flying on broomsticks."

"Typical boy," Ginny said with a shrug, and Maili laughed.  Ginny then went on to explain how many brothers she had and how she knew a lot when it came to young boys.

Overall, the meal proved to be a pleasant distraction.  Penelope kept pretty quiet after the subject had shifted from Ginny's work, and when Maili subtly attempted to get Penelope to join the conversation by asking her questions, she answered with a simple yes or no.  Ginny found she was grateful.  Something about Penelope rubbed her the wrong way, and she wasn't in much of the mood to waste energy being annoyed with her. 

Ginny was barely done eating when Aderyn Okal stepped into the room, looking flustered.  Her eyes danced before they found Ginny and settled on her.

"Oh, Ms. Weasley," she said, slightly breathless.  "You have a visitor out in the foyer."

Ginny's heart stopped before it started to hammer in her chest.  A visitor?  Who on earth could be visiting her?  Rapidly she ran through a list of names:  _Mum, Dad, Bill, Charlie, Percy, Fred, George, Ron, Humberto – perhaps for his money – or maybe –_

_Draco._

Slowly, Ginny rose, throwing a shaky smile at Maili.  Penelope didn't seem interested – she was digging into her dessert with gusto and didn't appear to care about much else.  "Excuse me," Ginny said, setting her napkin on the table. 

She followed Ms. Okal out into the foyer. The older woman nodded and said, "I'll leave you," before bustling up the stairs.  Ginny barely noticed her departure.  Her eyes were fixed on the tall, blonde figure standing in the middle of the foyer.

It was Narcissa Malfoy.

* * *

When Draco Apparated to his flat, he expected Blaise and Pansy to be sitting on his sofa, as usual, idly awaiting his arrival.  He had prepared himself for a verbal whipping – "What took you so damn long?" from Blaise; "We've got work to do, Malfoy, since you seem to have forgotten," from Pansy – and had established a brilliant lie of his whereabouts for the day; instead of meeting Ginny, he'd stood her up completely and spent his morning and afternoon strolling the streets (not such a lie) searching for wizarding shops and restaurants. 

Needless to say, it came as a mild shock to find his flat empty, his couch void of bodies. 

Since it was six thirty and Pansy had been adamant about leaving at seven for Athens, he was curious as to why they weren't there.  Had they gotten tied up while researching possible entries to the Tannar villa?  Had they hit a snag requiring extra time and possibly his help?  Surely they would have tried to contact him by now; surely they would have left a note.

There was no note. 

Draco was not worried; he was in fact quite annoyed.  He knew they weren't caught.  Blaise and Pansy were the masters of Dark Magic – at least, of those who were not locked in Azkaban – and had they been caught in the first place, which was highly unlikely, escape and erasure of any stay was a simple task for them.  Hence, since they weren't caught, it was odd they hadn't come by to ask for his help.  He _was_ apart of the Plan too, as they consistently reminded him.

More than ever, Draco wished for access to the wizarding world.  If he had known where there was one, he could have gone to an Owlry and sent a message to Pansy or Blaise, demanding to know what was going on.  As it was he had no idea where an Owlry was; he had no idea where anything magical was.  With the exception of Ginny's inn – of that location he had an elusive idea.  But no, he refused to head in that direction.  He never wanted to see her again.  To do so would be complete and utter idiocy. 

There really was no way to find anything wizarding, unless he were to wander the streets.  And he was in no mood to do that, taking into account that that was what he'd done all day. 

Blaise and Pansy were bound to show up sometime.  He'd just have to wait.

Restless, Draco headed into his bedroom.  He crossed to the wardrobe and pulled it open; there, leaning against the corner, was a trunk; one he'd bought because it reminded him of his childhood one.  That one he'd lugged to and from Hogwarts for seven years.  Of course, the two weren't identical – his Hogwarts trunk had been made of genuine dragon leather and pure gold fastenings, fully equipped with Scuff and Scratch Repellent.  This trunk was Muggle, painted black with brass edgings.  Yet when Draco saw it in that Muggle shop window, he had been filled with a longing – nostalgia, he supposed – that was very unlike him.  For that reason alone he had to buy it. 

It was the single thing he took with him to each new country, on each move, and it was full of the things he treasured.  _Yes, I treasure some things, he thought snidely.  Though he didn't like people to know it.  And considering everyone who knew him well (all two of them), not many really did know. _

Draco lifted the lid and glanced in.  The trunk wasn't completely full, but it was close.  Nevertheless it could fit a whole lot more – all it needed was an Enlargement Charm.  

There was a satin bag that contained expensive jewelry.  The reason he kept that was self-explanatory.  If he ever needed quick money, he would sell the contents.  So far he'd never needed to. 

There were a few of his favorite books as well – the ones he could read over and over again and never get bored of.  But he pushed these aside; they were not what he was looking for. 

Scattered along the bottom were a few _Daily Prophet_s from years ago, each flipped and folded open to the page that contained articles about him.  There was that time when he was seven that he'd led his Quidditch team to victory in the British Quidditch Cup (age group 6 to 8), and the article featured him swooping rather skillfully, if he did admit so himself, for the Snitch.  Another article featured him the summer before Hogwarts and depicted him as "a champion dueler" who "hasn't even reached his teen years."  The reporter had foreseen great things for this champion dueler, who had defeated everyone in the competition.  The article did fail to mention that he'd been the oldest by two years – the only reason he'd gotten into the competition was by his father's generosity (or threats) to the judges – but Draco was entertained by how it portrayed him and had kept it.  Various other articles littered the bottom of the trunk, mostly about a young, pre-Hogwarts Draco; once he'd started Hogwarts, news of Harry Potter and Voldemort were more coveted.  There had, however, been one last article of him . . . his obituary.  He hadn't kept it.  He hadn't even read the entire thing.  He could still remember scanning the first sentence and it was forever etched in his memory.

"_Draco__ Malfoy, only son of Death Eater Lucius Malfoy, was found dead yesterday at age 18 . . ."_

On top of the newspapers was his folded green Hogwarts Quidditch uniform that he'd stolen, as well as a Snitch whose enchantment had long since faded.  It was the very one he'd caught in the match where he'd beaten Gryffindor.  The single time he'd beaten Potter. 

Aside from the Quidditch paraphernalia were a few photographs.  The majority of them were of Draco and various other Slytherins at Hogwarts; the only period of his life he actually enjoyed.  There was one of Blaise, Pansy, and himself, taken on the last day of seventh year.  Behind them, the scarlet Hogwarts Express steamed, while Blaise continually smiled.  Either Draco or Pansy had gotten tired of smiling, or they hadn't been doing so when the picture had been taken.  They both stared stonily at the camera, and as he watched, Pansy slid her arm around his waist.  Almost possessively.  Draco shook his head, smirking, and set the picture aside.  That's exactly what Pansy _had_ been when they'd gone out – possessive. 

His attention was caught by another photograph, this one not of his friends.  It was of his family. Draco brought it close to his face, studying it directly.  Yes, he remembered this one.  It was a copy of the professional portrait they'd had done back the summer before Draco's sixth year.  The three of them were so stiff, the only way he could tell it was a wizarding photo was by how they blinked every now and then.  Draco and his father, Lucius, shared an almost identical expression.  It really was quite frightening how much his father reminded him of himself . . . but squinting at him, Draco was proud to notice he was better looking.  He had his mother's genes to thank for that.

_What a happy family_, Draco thought cynically, tossing the picture back into the trunk. 

Leaning in, he removed the one thing he'd gone into his trunk for in the first place.  A box.  Settling on the floor, he placed it in his lap.  It was made of tin, and it was more of a rectangular prism than an actual square.  He'd gotten it purposefully for its size – it was just what he'd needed. 

The red box had been bewitched with several charms to make it nearly indestructible.  As added precaution, Draco jinxed it so it wouldn't look hollow at all.  Only when Draco – and Draco alone – touched it did the box hum, and a crack snaked around the width and length, hinting at an opening. 

Draco opened it and found he was smiling; there, sitting innocently in the box, was his wand.  It was like seeing an old and very dear friend again.  He wrapped his fingers around it and lifted it out, admiring it in the weak sunlight that spilled in from the window.  It felt delightfully familiar in his hand.  To someone who used to use his wand countless times a day, not having held it in over a month seemed more like an eternity. 

"Welcome back to the wizarding world, Draco," he murmured to himself.

* * *

_Out of all the – Narcissa Malfoy – standing here – what in the _world_ – why – what −?_

Ginny couldn't even form a coherent thought, much less a sentence.  She stood, stupidly, mouth slightly ajar.  Narcissa was smiling at her, dressed richly in a charcoal Muggle skirt suit, a witch's black cloak thrown over her arm to prove she still kept with wizarding fashion. 

"Hello, Ginny," she said coolly, stepping forward and holding out her free right hand.  "I am Narcissa Yorick."

Ginny's brain jolted at that. _Yorick__.  That's right.  She'd gotten remarried, to some Scandinavian man.  "Hi," Ginny replied, somewhat disjointedly._

She reached to shake Narcissa's hand firmly.  The woman returned it with less force; daintily. 

"I do apologize for coming with no warning," she said airily, her smile too wide to be genuine. 

"That's all right," Ginny assured her, but that was not what was concerning her.  She was far more troubled by the fact that she didn't _know_ the woman.  They'd never met, never spoken before; Ginny would've worn on her grandmother's grave that Narcissa Mal – Narcissa _Yorick didn't even know she existed.  That was no exaggeration, either.  "How – ah – well, how did you find me here?"  Ginny asked as tactfully as she could._

"Oh," she said vaguely.  "I heard from the Ministry."

Ginny waited for more, but did so in vain.  Narcissa crossed the foyer, stilettos clicking on the tile, to study the rainforest picture behind the front desk.  Oddly enough, the animals were quiet.  Ginny saw upon closer inspection that they weren't even in the frame anymore.  She wondered if Narcissa had scared them away. 

"Well, Ginny, I'll try and make this quick," Narcissa said on a sigh, turning elegantly. 

She had soft features, Ginny noticed – a small nose, gently blue eyes, a delicately arched mouth reddened by lipstick.  And yet Ginny sensed something hard and cold about her; the way her lips tightened, even when she was smiling, and how there seemed to be no kindness behind her eyes.  They were little things that Ginny was sure others never noticed – little things she'd come to be aware of with every person she'd met, every since her experience with Dark Magic.  She supposed it took one to spot one; as she had once been one, even if only for a short while and against her will, she could spot Narcissa as one . . . a Dark Witch.  One with a well-meaning face but a sinister undercurrent.  How had she escaped Azkaban?

Nevertheless, Ginny humored her.  "Why be quick?" she asked brightly. "Stay, have something to drink with me."

"No," she insisted, politely enough.  Her smile was beginning to resemble a wince.  "I couldn't.  I haven't much time."

Ginny's interest was rising, but she kept her expression even.  "All right," she said.  "What can I help you with, Mrs. Yorick?"

The smile dropped off completely; she adopted an overly serious air and took a few steps closer to Ginny.  Her heel clicks seemed infinitely louder.  "I know what you're doing," she said simply, appearing concerned.

Ginny froze.  Draco's mother _knew_?  Oh God, that had to mean he knew as well.  _Deny it, she commanded her brain.  _Deny it – she has no proof.__

Except that she'd been to the Ministry. . . .

"What am I doing, Mrs. Yorick?" she asked pleasantly, smiling as though confused.

"Hunting down my dead son," Narcissa answered.  She breathed in deeply through her nose as if she were calling for strength. __

_Phony_, Ginny's mind hissed without warning.  "Dead son?" she repeated, tilting her head to the side.  Tonight her acting skills were red-hot; why couldn't she be so perfectly composed around Draco?  "I'm afraid I don't −"

Narcissa held up a hand to silence her.  "Please, Ginny, you need not hide the truth," she said firmly, a tremor of threat running through her words.  "I know you are undercover and I assure you, I won't be telling Draco of your expedition.  Perhaps if he were alive I would.  But he has been dead for years. . . ."

Ginny was beginning to feel sincerely baffled.  Just what, exactly, was going on?  Did Narcissa _honestly believe Draco to be dead? _

_I can't trust her_, Ginny decided, _but why would she lie to me?  She couldn't think of any practical reasons.  True, it was possible Narcissa might have no idea Draco was alive; she __had been living in Scandinavia for the past few years.  However, it was also true she had found out Ginny was searching for Draco, and had been able to find Ginny's inn.  She couldn't be as cut off from the British Ministry as it would seem. _

"So please, Ginny," she begged, and Ginny was startled to see her eyes were suddenly watery, "just go home.  Leave my son's memory in peace.  Whoever the Ministry saw here, in Madrid – it couldn't have been my Draco . . . it just _couldn't. . . ."_

Now Ginny felt off-balance as she watched Narcissa pull a handkerchief from her breast pocket.  All of the sudden she could no longer tell if Narcissa was just acting.  A second ago she had been positive the woman was up to something devious, but now . . . well, she really did look authentically upset.  _What does Narcissa know that makes her so positive Draco is dead?  Ginny pondered. _

"I ask you to please give it up," Narcissa sniffed, dabbing at the corner of her eyes so as not to ruin her makeup. 

That made Ginny stiffen.  No, she couldn't trust Narcissa Malfoy Yorick.  She wasn't going to abandon her chance at a real career simply because she was _asked.  Especially by someone she suspected was trying to work against her.  "I think I'll figure out if I should it up for myself, thank you," she said frigidly._

Narcissa looked up, eyes slightly rounded to show her surprise.

"I haven't met Draco yet," Ginny lied cleanly, "but I assure you if I do and I discover that the Ministry has made a mistake in his identity, I will return to England immediately."

Bit by bit, Narcissa's expression changed.  Her eyes continued to glisten, but unexpectedly it was anger that shimmered from their depths, not sadness.  Her mouth became a slash of red on her pale face, and funnily enough, she lost what color she had to begin with as she worked herself up. 

"I see," she said meticulously.  Her lips curved into a toothless smile which gave her the manner of one on the verge of insanity.  "Well, Ginny, allow me to give you some advice?" she offered quietly.  "It would be very . . . very wise if you left now. My son is DEAD," she barked, and Ginny unwillingly flinched.  Narcissa moved until she was inches from Ginny's face, and her voice lowered back to its hushed whisper.  "If you remain here, there will be some dire consequences." 

Ginny found she was more annoyed than frightened by her.  "What does it matter, then, if he's dead?" she demanded smartly.

If Narcissa's face had been fire before, it froze into ice.  Her eyes glazed into something unreadable.  "Don't be stupid, girl," she said composedly.  "I'm warning you."

"Yes, I consider myself warned," Ginny concluded brusquely.

Narcissa gave a thin, brittle laugh and stepped back.  "It's your life, girl," she said carelessly, yet with such a chill Ginny felt a shiver run down her spine.  It was the first thing Narcissa had said that put a slight fear in her. 

Evidently, it was also the last thing she would say.  Without another look, Narcissa twirled her cloak over her shoulders, turned with a graceful swish of the hem, and clicked across the tile.  In another instant the door had opened and closed, and she was gone.

Ginny remained where she was, trying to sort her thoughts.  Her mind was brimming, swirling, with loud questions. 

What had _that_ been all about? – What was Narcissa playing at? – Did she think that Draco was really dead? – Did Draco know Ginny worked for the Ministry or not? – Did he have contact with his mother? – Had _she_ told him about Ginny's employer? – Was Draco still in Madrid? – Where would he go next if not? – What would happen once Creedmoore found out she had failed? – Would she be sacked immediately? – Would she continue to be his apprentice for yet another few months? – _Had_ she even failed yet?

"Argh!" Ginny shrieked, burying her face in her hands.  This was all getting _too much.  It was too much trouble, it was too much stress, and it was too much . . . too much bloody _Malfoy___. _

"You look like you could use a drink," came a voice.

Ginny jerked her head up and saw Maili standing in the dining room doorway, arms crossed and grinning.  Beside her was Penelope, who had a knowing look.  Had they been eavesdropping?  She wouldn't put it past Penelope, but she didn't really think Maili was the type. 

"Tough visit?" Maili questioned, somewhat gentler, noticing how upset Ginny was.

"We weren't spying on you," Penelope offered, recognizing what was wrong.

"Of course not," Maili said.  "We were heading out for a bit of dancing – just came across you in a fit, is all."

Ginny gave a sigh, her shoulders sinking. "Yeah, it was a hell of a visit," she admitted.  "I think I need a long night's sleep."

"What you _need_," Maili argued, her grin back, "is a good, strong helping of Guinness."

Ginny released a short laugh.  "No, thank you. I'm not a big drinker."

"Come on," Penelope cajoled calmly, as though she had no real desire for Ginny to accompany them.  "Don't be boring."

"We'll have a fantastic time," Maili promised, at Ginny's side in two strides and snaking her arm around her shoulders.  "Besides, I need a break as much as you do.  I never get away from Kevin much, and as much as I love the little bugger, I do need to stop being a mum sometimes."

"And I know all the places to go," Penelope called – quite unhelpfully – from the doorway. 

Ginny glanced over at her and wondered briefly how the two got on the subject of going dancing in the first place, much less deciding to do so together.  She really did enjoy Maili's company, but Penelope was something to be desired . . . 

Then again, drinking herself into a stupor _did_ sound awfully tempting.  She was well aware that if she stayed in her room all night, she'd only sleep, which meant she would get no work done.  Why not make a time of it and have fun? 

She found a grin creeping over her face.  "All right," she relented, smothering the tiny voice that was telling her she'd regret it.  "I'm in." 

* * *

A/N: Quite a short and quite an action-lacking chapter. But some important things are starting to develop, so it was necessary.

_Coming soon: the three witches go out on the town and Draco heads on over to Greece. But that doesn't mean Ginny won't see him for a while . . . _

**dragongirlG**** (why thank you! Characterization is always hard to do, glad I'm doing it decently), **Mrs. Butterfly Tom** (Can you believe that I HAVEN'T seen the trailer for PoA yet? I'm so pissed! I saw The Return of the King – no Harry Potter preview. I saw Peter Pan – no Harry Potter preview. What's up with that? It's really bothering me. Argh. Anyway, ha, yeah, I did see Peter Pan and I thought it was kind of cute. Some parts seemed really childish, but hey, it's a kids' movie. Moving on . . . haha, exactly, a freak accident. Thanks much!), ****Jade Summers (ahaha nice one. This chapter didn't come out too quickly, but it was in less than two months, so yay), **Brooke Kenobi** (thank you! I'm truly flattered, and look – I'm blushing.), **LilJenreeds** (ah, thanks, stupid online translators . . .), **Anonymous HGDV **(nope, my hand is not broken . . . yet. Bwaha thanks for the concern, though. And you're welcome!), ****Nobodysbitch (This chapter was also quite uneventful – hope it wasn't boring, too. The American has appearances galore the next chapter, so never fret), ****Vanilla Sugar, Grumpy1 (haha thanks!), ****animefanatic_0_7 (thanks! That really means a lot), **Calender** (let's hope Ginny figures it all out and uses it to her advantage . . .), **YvettE** (thanks!), **FlavaOftheweek** (hope this didn't take _too_ long in coming this time. Thanks!), **Miss Auburn** (thank you!), **Hplova4eva** (yes it did), **sissy-6** (I know what you mean about chapter sizes, it's annoying when they're freakishly long but it's even more annoying when they're short), ****Vodk**@ **(thank you!), **lauren** (thanks for your comments. I never got your email, did I completely miss it or delete it somehow?), ****Ili (next chapter has been posted sooner, but not necessarily soon), **Ni** (haha thanks!), ****Bulma** Greenleaf** (oh thanks! I never really had writer's block, just not enough inspiration . . . meaning I knew what I wanted to do, I just didn't have the energy or the interest to do it. But I think that's over now!), ****Luna Writer (hope you had a Merry Christmas, too!), **PhoenixFaerie** (wow, two nights? I'm impressed. Haha thanks!), **TrinMalfoY** (ahh thanks for the wonderfully long review! It is curious, isn't it, how she's going to find him again? Hmm . . . Anyway, sorry about the conversations – sometimes they work, sometimes they don't. Thanks again, I loved reading what you wrote!), **Static **(thank you! That makes me swell with pride, haha), ****Bess3 (Thank you so much! I think I'm going to dive into Blaise's character quite a bit more, as well as Pansy's, so they'll actually have a purpose in the G/D hookup, not just The Plan. PS your review wasn't boring!), ****Y. Kuang (thanks, it's really nice to hear that!), **sweetest sorrow** (thank you, but no, no sequel for All You Need is Love. Sorry!), ****fulldark (haha, you bet!), **Shooting Jewel** (glad you like it! And you'll be glad to know I've taken your comment about the Spanish influence into deep consideration, and produced the next chapter chock full of it. I realized you were right, that they could've been in regular old England for all anyone knew, and it needed a Madridish touch. So I added some in! Glad to know you influenced my story? Haha. Desired Life is currently paused for the time being, but I really hope to get going on it again soon. Thanks!), **Wander Aimlessly **(thanks!), **Clouds89** (yes, it was, wasn't it?), ****Erin Faith (oh, and I'll be glad to read your comments as my story progresses. Haha, thank you for the review!), **Accalia2** (thank you! Yeah, Ginny is kind of embarrassing herself, isn't she? Ah well, it'll all work out in the end because Draco will end up falling in love with her . . . *sigh*), ****KeeperOfTheMoon (thanks, so do I!), **WantingGravity** (thanks very much!), **abrokenheartj** (thanks; might I warn you to steer clear of the Brother Amulets and The Return of Salazar Slytherin? They're nearly three years old and quite horrific), **VioletJersey** (thanks! I'll definitely keep your email handy. And you know what? You inspired me to use the Flamenco. You rock, no?), **Purple Haze** (thanks, I sure will!), **Charmed-Goddess-07** (thank you thank you!), **Laina3** (thanks, I try to make them believable!). **

Very big thanks to Marek (**Luinthoron) for the Christmas ecard – that was so nice! **

_Psst__: biographist is indeed not a word. Just so everyone knows I know that. _


	8. An Old Witches' Tale

**A/N:** All right, you all, here's Chapter 8, within the month, just as promised. And now I have chapter 10 written – good lord, I'm on a roll! Chapter 9 in two weeks, anyone?

Bad news, though – I've started working. While I will now be swimming in the massively rich (in a way), I won't get as much leisure time to write and write and write. I promise to try and update within a month each time, nevertheless. If sometimes the chapter's long in coming, please understand. Even when I'm done writing it, there's the week/2 weeks process of sending it to my beta's and such. 

Okay, nuff chat. Real quick thanks to my beta Tia and my smoother-over Elaine. You guys rock hugely.

**Chapter Eight**

**_An Old Witches' Tale_**__

Several drinks and even more hours later, Draco Malfoy, Narcissa Yorick, and the entire country of England were the farthest things from Ginny's mind.  Had she in fact begun to think of it, she would've only giggled so violently she wouldn't be able to control herself.  Maybe it was best the troubling matters weren't on her conscious mind.

The evening started out rather slowly.  Ginny, Maili, and Penelope crammed into a taxi, Penelope promising them she knew the best places to go. 

"I went to this restaurant the other night − Bocaíto," she told them.  "Best tapa bar in Madrid."

"What do you mean?" Ginny asked despite herself.

"Tapa is food, basically," Penelope explained.  "It can be anything – hot or cold.  Yesterday before lunch I went into some random bar and I had an absolutely _rancid_ salad tapa there.  When I asked what was in it, because I saw more than just vegetables, the bartender told me the meat was _pulpo_ – octopus.  I just about threw up right there. 

"But _Bocaíto_," she insisted, smiling at Ginny's disgusted face, "has great food.  They have this really good ham, I'm not sure what was so special about it, but it was pretty amazing.  There were also some tasty olives.  There was a huge selection of hot dishes, but I didn't order any – by then I was going to explode."

She turned out to be correct on the food selection – while some were placed out directly on the bar, most of them were made to order.  Penelope said it was best to eat with a _copa_ of _fino_ – a dry Spanish Sherry – so Ginny, despite how she really wasn't a big drinker, gave in and requested a glass. 

As it wasn't ten in the evening yet, the crowd was thin.  Most hovered around the bar, as the three of them did, smoking, chatting quietly, and eating tapas.  The cigarette smoke made Ginny feel smothered and most of the food she saw didn't look the least bit tantalizing.  She looked around, trying to hide her distaste, feeling quite the snob.  She was beginning to disagree with Penelope's opinion of what "the best bar" actually was. 

"How do you know so much about Madrid, Penelope?" Maili asked as they waited for their drinks.  "It's as if you live here."

Ginny realized that Penelope's eyes were no longer a shocking gold; they were just plain brown now, a shade lighter than her own and leaning more towards hazel.  She noticed this at that moment because Penelope's eyes clouded over, calling attention to them, before she lowered her lashes to peer at the counter.  "I used to live here," she said after a pause, lifting her head to reveal a guarded expression. 

Maili plunged on, cheerfully trying to make conversation and clearly oblivious to how the topic wasn't a good one.  "Oh yes?  Why aren't you staying with friends then?"

Penelope tossed her hair over her shoulder, looking away from Maili.  She was saved from answering when the bartender brought their sherries and she hurried to say, "Let's order something to eat."

Ginny studied Penelope for a moment longer, curious about her.  What had happened here in Madrid that made her avoid answering innocent questions? 

_I honestly don't care_, she reminded herself.  _I have more important things to worry about._

"Oh, Merlin, I don't know what to get," Maili claimed.  "You'll need to help me, Penelope – what's good?"

Penelope translated most of the selections, and Maili requested three things.  Ginny, however, didn't order anything − "I'm not hungry," she said.  And it was true.  Penelope rolled her eyes and Maili mocked disapproval. 

"A couple more sherries should loosen you up," Penelope vowed. 

Ginny didn't think so; she wasn't planning on ordering another one.  She was trying to figure out a way to gracefully go back to the inn.

Once the food came, Maili began to launch into her life story.  She had no inhibitions about sharing her personal information with two near-strangers.  While eating from three different plates, standing between Ginny and Penelope and turning this way and that to meet their eyes, she described with vigor – quite often with her mouth full and cheeks bulging – how it was growing up in her small Irish hometown.  After she downed her second sherry and asked for a draught beer next, she launched into her tale of going to an even smaller wizarding school.

As she was recounting her first job out in the real world, the bartender came by and asked if they wanted anything else.  Penelope asked for two sherries and Maili wanted another beer.  Ginny realized the second sherry was for her and opened her mouth to tell Penelope she didn't want it, but Maili was already crying, ". . . . and can you _believe_ it, I actually got promoted. . . ."

With a twang Ginny remembered that she was supposed to be promoted soon – but not if she was standing around getting drunk on sherries.  She was going to leave at that point – she _really _was – but Maili wore no wedding band and she was awfully interested to hear about Kevin's father. . . .

By the time Maili got to Kevin's father – "Bastard . . . one hell of a lover, though, you can't imagine the times we had . . . left as soon as I told him I was pregnant and never heard of him since. . . ." – Ginny was already on her fourth sherry.  She was developing a fondness for them and Penelope just kept ordering them for her and she just hadn't said no yet. . . .

Finally, Maili had brought the two up to speed on her life and finished with a loud laugh.  Eleven thirty was approaching and the bar had gotten noticeably more crowded.  The chatter had risen to a dull roar, and more bodies were being pressed up against the counter to order _tapas_ and drinks. 

Ginny felt completely transformed.  Her earlier worries had all but faded away; she felt relaxed and light-headed . . . she knew she was approaching the drunken stage.  She'd gotten drunk only once before and swore never to do it again.  The hangover had been the worst feeling in the world.  But she wasn't really caring that much.  For the first time all day, she was able to put Draco out of her head and concentrate on something else. 

It was a relief to admit to herself that she was now having a good time. 

"So what about you, Ginny?" Maili demanded, a bit too loudly.  She was on her third beer and the glasses were no goblets.  "Tell us about your family . . .  I bet you have loads of stories, what with having eight brothers. . . ."

"Six," Ginny said, holding up one hand and one finger.  A giggle escaped as she made sure she was holding up the right amount of fingers.  "Only six."

"Good Christ, girl," Penelope whistled.  Her fifth Sherry was being set in front of her, just like Ginny's was, but she didn't look as affected as Ginny felt.

Maili prodded in with questions – "Did you have to wear your brothers' old clothes?  I used to get my sister's hand-me-downs and I _despised_ it" – and eventually, Ginny was describing her household in earnest.  She'd never thought her brothers' occupations to be something of interest, but Maili and Penelope both watched her, occasionally sipping their drinks, genuinely enjoying what she was saying.  Soon she had them all but rolling on the floor in laughter, describing the stunts Fred and George used to pull.  She shocked them when she told them of her family's involvement with the Second War.  She impressed them when she said she knew Harry Potter. 

"You _know_ him?  Personally?  As in, not just passed him in the halls at school or spotted him on the street?"  Penelope said incredulously.

Ginny couldn't find it in her to dislike Penelope at the moment – the alcohol had made her a nicer person.  "Yes, he's my brother's best friend.  I can get you an autograph, if you like."  She laughed, relatively hysterically, at the knowledge that Harry, even after all these years, hated his fame and would have a fit if she asked him to sign an autograph. 

"What do you know, Penny," Maili said, clapping Penelope on the back heartily and shaking her, causing the sherry in her hand to slosh over the edge.  "We have a celebrity in our midst."

"Not me," Ginny insisted, lifting her glass and trying to catch the bartender's eye.  "I just know the bugger.  I used to fancy him something wicked, you know."

"Who didn't?" Penelope retorted, holding out her newly emptied cup as well for the bartender to take as he swished by. 

"So tell me how someone like you – someone who grew up with Harry Potter _and_ six older brothers – got into writing boring biographies for a living?" Maili questioned.  She released a loud belch and dissolved into laughter.

Penelope caught Ginny's eye over Maili's head, grinning.  "Yeah, why don't you tell us, Ginny dear?"

Ginny, oddly, didn't feel annoyed or even the least bit upset.  She was sure the alcohol had something to do with it, but she honestly wasn't _that_ daft.  Drunk or not, she found herself trusting these women.  Maili was openly a good, decent person, and though Ginny had had her doubts, Penelope didn't seem to be much of a threat, either.  When she'd met Penelope, she hadn't sensed anything sinister about her.  The thought that she might be in league with Malfoy had passed Ginny's brain many times, but she dismissed the notion without much proof of her innocence.  The only thing Ginny was sure about was that a) if Penelope knew Draco she would have told him already that Ginny most certainly did work for the Ministry, and he wouldn't have bothered to go on the first date with her, much less the second, and b) she had a knack for judging people.  And she ruled Penelope to be – though quite annoying for being such a snoop – an overall trustworthy woman. 

Of course, she also found that she didn't care about much at the moment.  When she thought about how her job might be at stake, she discovered that it didn't bother her.  Maybe it really _was _the alcohol's fault.  It was quite stupid of her, she realized later, but she did it anyway.  She told Maili and Penelope why she was _really_ in Madrid. 

The two listened intently, this time never pausing to take a drink.  Ginny described what it had been like in Hogwarts, sharing a school with Malfoy as a kid, and then went on to summarize her job mission.  By the time she'd finished it was midnight.  The dull roar around them was now full-blown shouting – Ginny's voice had been steadily loudening matching the surrounding clamorto where her throat hurt slightly – and there was much movement and commotion.  However, Maili and Penelope didn't seem to be concerned by what was going on around them.

"Well, Ginny," Maili said, exhaling loudly, "I suppose you _do_ have a little more excitement in your life than I originally thought."

Ginny laughed.  "Writing biographies was the absolute first thing I thought of when I had to lie about what I did for a living," she said, Maili's laughter mingling with hers.

"I think it all sounds suspicious," Penelope declared as if asked her view of the situation.  "You have to bring him back England?  That's just stupid.  As he _is_ British, I'm sure the Spanish Ministry would have to give him back to be tried in his own country."

Ginny felt a nudge in her mind.  Penelope made a good point.  She hadn't really thought on the matter of bringing him back to England too much; she'd accepted that that's what the Ministry wanted her to do.  Considering it now, it _was_ pretty suspicious . . .

"I'm sure they have their reasons," argued Maili firmly.  "The Ministry wants him rather badly; they're not _trying_ to make it impossible to capture him.  There's probably some technical matter that calls for him to be brought back to England."

Penelope hesitantly agreed with a slow nod.  But she still looked troubled.  Ginny felt a little flattered that she was worried on her behalf.  Especially after how rude Ginny had been to her. 

"Don't worry about it," Ginny said, leaning forward to wave a hand in Penelope's face and dismiss the discussion. 

"Yeah, it's your turn now, Penelope," Maili accused.  "Tell us about your life."

But Penelope was – once again – saved from saying anything when there was the sound of whistles and cheers.  The three of them glanced towards the noise and saw some musicians ambling across a stage on the far end of room, carrying guitars and trumpets; one man was even holding a sheet of wood.  Following them and eliciting more cheers were three women, dark hair knotted on their heads and accented with large flowers, and white dresses that clung like elastic in the bodice and floated in the skirt. 

"What is this, Penelope?" Ginny asked.

"Flamenco dancers," Penelope replied; no one noticed the hard edge to her usually sultry voice.  "I forgot about them – they perform just about every night at midnight."

Ginny was interested to see the dance and settled her back against the bar counter, waiting patiently for the performers to set up.  The five or six musicians sat down in chairs along the back of the stage, strumming their guitar strings or warming his horn up with a few short notes.  The women did a few last minute stretches, bending their arms behind their neck or reaching for their toes.  Finally, as the crowds' noise level reached a fevered pitch, the women arranged themselves in a stance that alerted the audience they were about to begin. 

When all was quiet – Ginny had almost forgotten what silence sounded like – the trumpet players, instruments in their laps, started to clap out a rapid rhythm.  Ginny was barely focusing on them before the dancers began their performance, drawing her attention. 

The dance started out slow, exotic, despite the fast clapping.  The women swayed, their skirts swirling about their legs, flourishing their arms in the air with fluid movements.  Every time the man pounded the wooden block with a particularly loud thump, they would slide their feet with the beat. 

Eventually, they began to rap their feet in a quicker fashion, much like a tap-dancer.  They would join in on every thump with a clap; slap rhythms out on their thighs; turn their heads with the beat.  When the guitar entered, the dance became even more frantic, yet unbelievably controlled and incredibly sensual. 

It went on for nearly five minutes, and despite the sheen of sweat on the dancers' face, Ginny saw they never ceased to smile at the crowd, honestly enjoying what they were doing.  They weren't fazed by the laughs and catcalls that were obviously outrageous; Ginny didn't have to speak the language to understand that. 

When it was all over, Ginny clapped enthusiastically and shouted her appreciation, but the only thing that made her aware she was making a sound at all was the soreness in her throat.  The entire bar was filled with pounding feet and screams as the ladies took a few bows, blew kisses to everyone, and waved goodbye.  As soon as they filed off the stage, the musicians began to play a loud, upbeat song that made Ginny feel she was indeed in Spain. 

She didn't think about Malfoy once more for the rest of the night.

* * *

_Wednesday, 12 March, 2003___

Likewise, Draco was not thinking much about Weasley.  As Tuesday night progressed, his mood steadily deteriorated.  He tried to read some of the books from his trunks, but couldn't concentrate.  The more he tried, the more his mind strayed. 

Finally, a little after midnight Draco went to bed.  He wasn't going to wait up for them any longer.  By then he was so upset that in the moments before sleep, he ran through his knowledge of hexes and picked the ones he wanted to use on them, if they even dared to step foot into his room during the middle of the night. 

He slept soundly.  It was almost nine when he blinked awake, noticing how bright the sun was.  He was normally an early riser – he felt unaccomplished when he slept in. 

He didn't dwell on the time; he got out of bed and left the room in his underwear, wondering if Pansy and Blaise had come by earlier and left already, knowing they would be seriously hurt if they disturbed him.  But once again, there was no note or indication the two had been there.

Draco swore irritably.  Where _were_ they?  Was it possible they had gone ahead to Greece without him?  Pansy _had_ been up in arms when he'd told her he had to spend the day with Weasley.  It wouldn't be surprising if she'd dragged Blaise alone with her, just to spite him.

In a brilliantly abominable mood, Draco took a shower in hopes of calming down.  He didn't.  As soon as he was dressed, he pocketed his wand – the familiarity of it in his pocket gave him a brief thrill of satisfaction before his horrible mood smothered it – and left his flat.  He wouldn't wait around any longer, even if they were still in Spain. 

Knowing he'd feel better once he found a way to contact them, he set off in search of anything wizard. 

He walked for a few hours, slowly feeling better.  The day was a bit cloudy and humid, but pleasant enough, and the fresh air helped clear his mind.  He was actually pleased, his hostility forgotten, when he found what he was looking for. 

He discovered the Madrid equivalent of Diagon Alley – Esquina del Encanto – mostly by luck.  As he was walking along the pavement and studying the shops briefly, his eyes ran over the words Owls for All and he had to do a double take.  _Owls for All.  _Muggles didn't sell owls. 

The shop was small and clearly not visible to those who weren't looking for it.  Upon entering, Draco asked the man behind the counter where he could find an Owlry.  He was shown a backdoor that led directly into Esquina del Encanto.

It lacked the bustling activity Diagon Alley had, but Draco didn't care.  Straight away he was attracted to the broom shop, where the latest model was displayed in the front window.  _SilverWing 2000. _ The newest one he could remember was a Firebolt 360.  His expression of awe and desire reflected the young boys' who stood around him; they whispered excitedly about how fast it could go and how easily it turned, and they lamented at how much it cost. 

He remained there for nearly ten minutes.  

Finally, he remembered why he was here in the first place and set off for the Owlry.  After scribbling a brief note − _Where the hell are you? ~ D −_ and watching the owl soar away, he perused through the rest of **Esquina del Encanto_._**  He was upset to discover that he knew most of the news in the paper; Ginny had explained most of the highlights to him.  So he went to the shops that were his favorites as a child – anyplace that had anything Quidditch, sweets, as well as the reptile houses – and spent most of the day there.

When Draco finally came out of Owls for All, back into the Muggle street, it was nearly dark.  He decided it would be best to Apparate back home, just in case Pansy and Blaise were waiting for him.

They were.  In his kitchen he found Blaise's head in the refrigerator and Pansy seated on the counter.  He felt a stirring of what could've been relief; it vanished and fury replaced it. 

"Hello, Draco," Pansy said dryly, instantly sensing his frame of mind. 

"Do you have _anything_ to eat?" Blaise complained, straightening and glaring in Draco's direction.  "Oh, please, what are you so angry about?"

"Three guesses," Draco snapped.

"We were _working_," Pansy said throatily, sliding to the floor.  "Everything turned out more difficult than expected."

"And I suppose it was too hard to take a three minute break to let me know what was going on?" Draco demanded softly.  "I've been waiting since last night, and you know very well I don't wait very patiently −"

"Since last night, eh?" Blaise interrupted coolly, grinning.  "Spent the entire day with Weasley, did you?"

Draco nearly stuttered.  "I didn't see her at all," he managed cleanly.  "I spent the entire day looking for wizarding shops."

Pansy was smirking, as if she knew the truth, but said nothing on the subject.  "You'll be happy to know that we've secured a way to the blueprints," she told him instead.

"Will I?" 

"Rafe Tannar is Gaius Tannar's cousin.  He owns the villa in Greece where the blueprints are being held," Pansy explained shortly.  Her smirk was slowly turning into her I-am-a-bloody-genius smile.  "And guess who just booked a holiday at that very same villa for herself and two brothers?"

Draco couldn't contain his surprise.  "You did?"

"That's where I was all night and most of the day," Pansy said, waving her hand as if it were nothing.  "While Blaise was researching where the blueprints themselves were being held, I hunted out Gaius.  He finally came to his senses and realized it didn't matter what his wife thought of me.  I stayed the past twenty-four hours in his cottage on the Mediterranean.  All I had to do was simper about how much I was _dying_ to go to Athens, but simply _couldn't _afford to stay there, and he was Flooing his cousin to ask if I could stay at his villa.  I mentioned I wanted my brothers to accompany me, and poof – that was all arranged."  She paused, pleased with herself.  "It's quite handy to have Gaius eating out of my palm.  I think I'll keep him around."

Blaise pretended to vomit in the sink as Draco processed what Pansy had just told him.  "We're going to stay in the very same house as the blueprints?" he confirmed.

"Yes.  Granted, it would be good practice if we tried to break in," Pansy relented, jamming Blaise particularly hard in the ribs with her wand, "but it will be so much simpler this way."

"What's guarding the blueprints directly?"

Blaise, holding his side and wincing slightly, lifted a hand to demonstrate that was his area of expertise.  "A few spells, nothing we can't break through," he answered.  "Most of them are used somewhere in Azkaban and we've already figured out how to crack through those.  The most rudimentary of the lot."

"It's still no walk in the park," Pansy interjected.

"True, but we know how to do it," said Blaise grimly.  "The hardest part, however, will be getting past the guards."

"How will we?" Draco frowned.

"I roughly sketched it out," Blaise said, crossing his arms and leaning against the counter.  "We Stupefy three of them – separately, when they're in their rooms or somewhere else private – and take their places.  Simple batch of Polyjuice Potion.  Then we Stupefy the rest; there are only six total, so that leaves one for each of us.  We stun them at the same time and they won't remember what happened.  We enter the room with the blueprints, set the originals back, and leave."

Draco raised an eyebrow skeptically.  "You really think it will be that simple?"

"No," Blaise shrugged, "but it's something to go on.  We'll improvise once we get there, if we have to."

"Speaking of which," Pansy announced, "I informed Rafe Tannar we will be arriving tonight.  We're going by Floo.  Get some things together, Draco."

Draco, previous anger at the two forgotten, obeyed.  He threw some clothes into his trunk and returned to the kitchen, ready to leave.  They were going to Floo from Pansy's flat, as Draco's fireplace wasn't hooked up to the Network. 

As he shut the door behind him, he couldn't help but feel slightly relaxed at the thought of putting distance between him and Ginny Weasley.

If only he'd known how close by Ginny was.  The minute the door clicked shut, Ginny Weasley crept out from behind the couch, a Disillusionment Charm concealing her against the wall. 

* * *

Ginny's morning started out horribly enough.  Against her will, she lifted her fifty-pound eyelids to discover she was not in her room or even a bed.  She was on the carpeted – though hard – floor without as much as a pillow.  Groaning, she sat up.  Her head felt like it was split open and her stomach was rumbling violently like an ocean in the middle of a windstorm. 

She wanted to die.

Blinking around the room, she saw the lump of a person in the bed, buried under the blankets.  She saw a mane of thick brown hair and the night's events came rushing back at her. 

Oh, God, how late had they stayed out?  Well into the wee hours of the morning, that was for sure.  The last time she'd consulted her watch it had been three . . . or maybe it was a quarter after twelve, she couldn't really be positive.  Her eyes couldn't have been too focused, what with her having consumed her body weight in alcohol.

But _Christ_, had she had fun.  She couldn't remember the last time she'd enjoyed herself so much.  Drinking without a care, dancing so idiotically she nearly wet herself from laughing, shouting out random and silly things . . . if she had to compliment Penelope on one thing, it was her idea of a good time. 

Across the room, Ginny saw a mound of empty sheets on the floor and guessed that was where Maili had slept.  Where was she?

As Maili heard her thoughts, she stepped in to the room from the connecting bathroom, levitating a china pot and three cups.  Noticing Ginny awake, she beamed a wide smile that made Ginny marvel at how she could stretch her face when her head _had_ to be killing her. 

"Good morning, Ginny," she said, setting the pot and cups on the bedside table.  "And good morning to you, you great lump," she added, ruffling the mass of blankets that was Penelope.  The reply she got was a mumbling of swears and threats.

"If that's some Remedy Tea you've got there, I'm your new best friend," Ginny said, her voice still thick with sleep, as Maili poured from the pot. 

"That's precisely what I've got," she replied, flicking her wand and sending the cup hurrying over to Ginny.  "It's dim in here, but I can see from over here you look like crap.  You must be less Irish than I thought; don't take drinking too well, do you?"

"I take drinking just fine," Ginny mumbled, blowing on the steaming tea.  "It's the morning after I can't handle."

Maili laughed, crossing the room to pull open the draperies.  Bright sunlight poured into the room; Ginny cried out and turned her face away.  Penelope groaned in protest and rolled over.  "There, that's a bit more cheery, isn't it?" Maili said happily.

Ginny took a hurried sip from her tea.  Though it scalded her tongue, she appreciated the warmth spreading through her as it slipped down her throat, the sensation similar to that of slipping slowly into a hot bath.  Her stomach calmed a bit and the pounding in her brain abated. 

"So what shall we do today, girls?" Maili questioned, sitting on the foot of the bed.  "Take the day and go to Valencia, see what there is to be seen there?  I'm afraid we'll have to take Kevin along with us, but most of the time he's an angel, as long as he's got some toy to occupy him. . . ."

Ginny gave a small smile.  "I can't do anything today, Maili," she said apologetically.  "I need to get back to work."  Her head gave an exceptionally painful throb. 

"Oh yes!" Maili cried enthusiastically, negating Ginny's expectations; she thought Maili would be upset.  "That's right, your little undercover assignment.  Well, I'll be glad to help you.  I'm sure _Penelope _will be, too," she sang, reaching back to nudge her.

"Fucough," Penelope half-moaned, half-whined. 

"That's sweet of you, but it's something I should do on my own," Ginny insisted, already feeling the regret of telling them mix in with her queasy stomach.  She swiftly took another sip of tea.  "What time is it, by the way?"

"Nearly noon," Maili said.  She laughed as Ginny jerked, surprised, and spilled her drink into her lap.  "Yes, you did miss breakfast, but lunch should be ready in a couple of hours −"

"I need to go," Ginny interrupted, rising.  The room swayed and the floor seemed unsteady, but after a moment or two she regained her balance enough to stumble to the door.  "I have so much work to do," she added over her shoulder, taking another few sips of her tea.  "I need to find out where Malfoy lives; I have no idea how to find him, and for all I know he could be halfway to China by now. . . ."

"You don't know where to find him?" Maili pressed, taken aback.  Ginny stood with her hand on the doorknob, hurrying to finish her tea.  "So what do you propose to do, just knock door to door until he answers?"

"I'll think of something," Ginny assured her, once again berating herself for letting that confession slip.  "Thanks for the tea, Maili, and thank Penelope for a great night −"

"Just wait a moment, Ginny," said Maili firmly, getting to her feet and striding over to place herself in front of the door.  "I might be able to help you."

Ginny wasn't sure why she was so reluctant to be helped, but she felt like this was _her_ problem and _she_ needed to deal with it.  Already she was frightened of the fact that Maili and Penelope knowing her true business might lead to it somehow blowing up in her face; it would be better if she just kept them as far out of this mess as she could.  "Really, I don't −" she began.

"Have you ever heard of a Locator Spell?" Maili plowed on, undiscouraged. 

"I don't _need _your hel – a what?" 

"Locator Spell," she repeated. 

"Yes, but those can't be used on people −"

"So they _say_," said Maili, starting to grin knowingly.  "But my grandmother taught me a whole bunch of spells that, according to my mother, were just a bunch of old witches' tales.  Mostly, they were useless because they were so random that such a situation never arose that called for their power.  There was one, though, that stuck out in my mind because I always thought, _This might be practical someday._  And that was the Locator Spell."

Ginny released a breath, wishing her head would stop thumping so excruciatingly and let her think clearly.  "What would I need to do?" she said tonelessly.

"Well, it's a very simple, actually," Maili told her, eyes lighting up at the realization Ginny was letting her help.  "Just a little flick like this" – She demonstrated with her wand – "Along with_ Repertum_ _Viri_ . . . and . . . oh no."

"What?"

"I forgot," Maili said sadly, looking downright depressed.  "The person needs to be tapped by the wand in order for it to work."

Ginny blinked.  "In order to locate a person, they need to be standing directly beside you?"  _That does sound like a load of rubbish_, she thought, but didn't want to hurt Maili's feelings.

"The spell works as soon as they're _away_ from you," she replied, "at least, that's what Grandmam told me.  She said that for the next twenty-four hours, you know exactly where that person is.  But . . . they need to be present. . . ." She trailed off, sounding like she was already lost in her thoughts.  A moment later, just as Ginny was beginning to think it was time to leave, her eyes lit up, indicating she'd had a wonderful epiphany.  "A picture!" she exclaimed, and as Ginny's mind was already on other things and had long since abandoned the Locator Spell idea, it took her a second to register what on earth she meant.  "Do you have a photograph of him?"

Ginny was reluctant to answer.  She could very well simply lie and say no, and retreat quietly back to her room and work alone . . . __

_But what will it hurt?_ a voice demanded.  _What do you have to lose?_  Frankly, she needed all the help that was offered to her at this point.  Any sort of plan was better than the one she had.

"Yes," she said tiredly, "it's in my room.  I'll be just a minute."

Ten minutes later, Penelope was rolling out of bed languorously, lured by the appeal of seeing how the spell worked, and Ginny and Maili were sitting across from each other on the floor, cross-legged.  In between them sat a picture of Malfoy crossing the street.

"Oh, he's awfully good-looking," Maili commented.  "Penelope, you would like this.  He seems like your type."

Ginny felt an odd twinge in the midst of her rumbling stomach.  Instantly she felt her face flame with embarrassment; there was absolutely no reason to be _jealous_.  She was better off not being Malfoy's type.  In fact, Penelope and he would be _perfect_ for each other. 

_Subject closed._

Penelope, wearing nothing but a thin, sleeveless white shirt and underwear, joined them on the floor.  Her hair was mussed, her eyes heavy with sleep, and she had creases on her face from lying on the blankets funny.  Ginny would have laughed if she hadn't been so depressed at the task that lay ahead of her once she proved to Maili this spell didn't work. 

"All right, are you set?" demanded Maili.  "Got your wand?"

As it was in Ginny's hand and clearly visible, she merely gave Maili a look. 

"Okay then."  She clapped her hands once.  "Remember, it's a little flick like this . . . then tap the photograph directly on him . . . and then _Repertum_ _Viri _as you hold your wandtip still."

"Got it," Ginny assured her.

She lifted the photograph in her free hand slightly off the ground, and the three of them pressed their heads together and peered down.  Malfoy exited the picture, having reached the opposite street, and then reappeared on the other side. 

_I suppose it's worth a shot_, Ginny thought.

She flicked her wand as Maili had demonstrated, pressed the tip against Malfoy's form, following him as he hurried along, and said loudly and clearly, "_Repertum Viri_." 

She honestly wasn't expecting anything.  Truly.  But if she had been, she thought it would've taken a couple of seconds to actually happen. 

She felt it immediately.

There was a bright flash, and then it was like being shoved backwards by two strong hands.  One moment she was staring at the floor and picture, and the next she was blinking up at the ceiling, flat on her back.  Her wand was hanging loosely in her hand, and the photograph was now just a picture of a street.  There was a perfect cutout where Malfoy had been, its outline blackened as though scorched.

"Whoa," Penelope said, fully awake. 

"Did it work?" Maili shrieked.

Ginny slowly sat up, concentrating.  _It did_, she realized vaguely.  In her mind's eye, she had a perfect vision of a fancily furnished, completely Muggle home.  It was as if she'd been there dozens of times, as if she lived there, as if she was there at that very _moment_.  She could walk from the living room, into the kitchen, into the bedroom . . . everything was as clear as day. 

But the most important thing was that she knew precisely how to get there.

* * *

She hid there most of the day, Disillusionment Charm securely in place.  Draco wasn't home all afternoon, and she'd convinced Maili and Penelope – not so easily, mind – that she had to do this _alone _and that she would hex them into next year if they dared to come with her, so she aimlessly wandered the place, bored, afraid to touch anything.  She didn't want Draco to know anyone had been there messing with his things.

She knew where he was at the moment.  He was in some sort of wizarding alley.  She felt like she was living two lives; hers and Malfoy's, both simultaneously.  Weirder still, she could sense some of his emotions; at first he was livid, then he was delighted, then he was nostalgic . . . it was constantly changing.  Now that she'd found where he lived, she wanted the spell to wear off soon.  She didn't want to feel Draco Malfoy's feelings and live Draco Malfoy's life for the rest of _hers_.  But Maili had said it would last for twenty-four hours, so she still had some time to go.

She didn't leave the flat.  She didn't follow him into the wizarding alley.  By all accounts she should have.  Wasting the day in his home achieved nothing, only the knowledge that he wasn't leaving Madrid in the near future.  But she didn't leave.  Once Draco came home, she decided she would spy on him.  Find out what made him tick.  And when the time was right, she would confront him again.

* * *

As soon as the three ex-Slytherins left the flat, Ginny sank down onto the couch with a heavy, bewildered sigh.

What had she just witnessed?

_Draco is up to something.  And he's not in it alone_. 

Ginny now knew who that black-haired man was.  Once she'd seen him side-by-side with Pansy Parkinson (who Ginny would always remember until her dying day; the woman had buried herself so deeply into her mind), her memory had shouted out a name.  Blaise Zabini.  Another former Slytherin. 

She couldn't recall much about Blaise; he'd always been quiet, dark, and dangerous.  Though some of the younger girls had thought him handsome, Ginny had never particularly been attracted to him.  She had assumed it was the same reason she'd never been attracted to Draco Malfoy; he wasn't a good person.  But then, look how she felt now – she found Draco unusually appealing, and she knew for a fact he wasn't a decent human being. 

Pansy, on the other hand, would always be a vivid reminiscence.  In her sixth year, she had failed Charms – quite giftedly, too, with a ten percent for the entire year.  She'd had to repeat sixth year Charms in her seventh year, and as the only open slot in her schedule had been when the current sixth year Gryffindors were in lessons; she had been dumped with them. 

Ginny had despised the girl, to say the least.  Pansy was snobby, malicious, and stupid.  Oh, not stupid in the knowledge sorts – she was actually clever, and the only reason she failed was because she felt she was too above the work to actually do it.  No, she was stupid in the sense of ignorance.  She had no idea of anything but the world she'd grown up in.  Second-hand books and clothing?  Such a thing did not exist.  Not getting what she wanted?  Such a thing was never considered.  The Dark Lord killing and ruining lives?  Such a thing was a lie. 

Though Ginny had never spoken with Pansy directly, their desks had been nearby and she'd heard every word Pansy had said to anyone who would listen.  From that, she'd deduced what an awful personality the Slytherin had and had always felt uncharacteristically spiteful towards her.

What _was_ Draco up to, still keeping in contact with the two of them?  Wasn't he supposed to be dead to everyone but the Ministry?

_Clearly not_, she comprehended.  _He must trust Parkinson and Zabini rather well.  They could easily turn him over to the Ministry – so easily it almost makes _me_ uneasy._

There had to be some reason why the three of them were sticking with one another, especially when one was supposed to be dead to everyone who knew him.  But Ginny could not, for the life of her, sort through the information she'd just overheard to come up with an explanation. 

She heard enough to deduce that they were on their way to Athens, Greece, to stay at a Rafe Tannar's villa.  She heard the mention of spells on Azkaban, blueprints, and guards.  She could even make the correlation between most of it; Rafe Tannar's villa contained blueprints, which were being watched over by guards. 

What did Azkaban have to do with it?

Perhaps it was just some random analogy comparing the difficulty of the spells around the blueprints to that of those in Azkaban.  Perhaps it didn't mean anything.  Perhaps he didn't even say Azkaban at all . . . but Ginny certainly couldn't come up with a word that sounded remotely similar. 

And what were the blueprints of?  Azkaban?  Something else entirely?  What did the repeated mention of Gaius Tannar mean?  Was he as important as his cousin, Rafe?  Was _Rafe_ even relevant to all that was going on?

Ginny could feel the repeat of the morning's headache roaring back to life.  Running her fingers through her hair, she inhaled deeply and blew the air out loudly. 

_Why is this so damn complicated?_

Well, one thing was for sure.  If she wanted answers, she would have to secure _herself_ a holiday at the Tannar villa.  Resolved by her decision, she stood up and tried to shake vigor back into her limp body. 

She would find just _exactly_ what Draco Malfoy was up to.

* * *

**Notes:** I made up the layout of Bocaíto, because quite obviously I've never been there. Other than that, everything is pretty much accurate about it. 

Also, a mistake I made previously was to have the inn's lunch be at one p.m., when normally it's eaten at two or later in Madrid. As well as Ginny and Draco's meeting time the day before; instead of one, it's now two.

_Esquina del Encanto –_ means pretty much "enchantment corner".

_Repertum_ _Viri _– I had the meaning of this written down _somewhere_, and couldn't find it. Then I went back to the site I got it from and couldn't find it again. So suffice to say it means something like "locate" and "man" or something to that effect. And it probably doesn't even mean _that_ because online translators suck. But you know what I was getting at.

**A/N:** Next chapter: lovely, lovely Greece, plenty of D/G action, and shirtless!wet!Draco. What more could you want?

Great news! I've got someone who wants to draw fanart for me! I'm so excited. Here's the first picture gorgeous picture, by Lauren, of D/Gness:

http: // img7.photobucket. com /albums/v21/scrumtriliscent/ibelieveinathingcalledlove.jpg (just be sure to get rid of all the spaces, because otherwise stupid ff.net wouldn't let me put this link in here).

Thanks to the reviewers!

**Twinsofthesky** (blah colds are gay. Hope you feel better now. Of course it's coming…soon…), **Jade Summers** (whoa, how many updates is that? I suppose I could count across and then count down and then multiply…but my brain is frazzled, having gotten up at 6:20 this morning…on a Saturday. Anyway, thanks!), **LilJenReeds** (shanks very much!), **Icy Lullaby** (everyone suspects Penelope! Haha, it's kind of funny. Thanks!), **animefanatic 0 7 ** (sorry sorry, hope this one's a bit more to your liking with length. Thanks, I wanted to give a little background on Draco so people can kind of understand him a bit more. And I FINALLY saw the PoA trailer – I got so frustrated I went to warnerbros.com and watched it, hee. I didn't watch the Superbowl – I was working. Well, I lie. I got home at half time and caught Janet's boob. Then I got mad cause Kid Rock was there and he insults me because he's ass ugly – no offense if you like him – and I drifted onto the computer…story of my life, haha), **anonymousHGDV** (and I shall love you forever…for, uh, being you!), **Nobodysbitch** (thanks, I was afraid it was kind of tedious. Thanks!), **Static **(a kiss in the next one, promise! Thank you much!), **Amanda** (Thanks, I'm enjoying writing it! And yes, I do plan on updating again soon, probably within a couple of weeks), **KeeperOfTheMoon** (haha thanks!), **MoonDevil99** (glad you like it!), **Charmed-Goddess-07** (she followed him quite easily, actually…almost too easily, eh? Thanks!), **FlavaOftheweek** (snoot! That's the new word of the week. That's tieeght. Glad that at least one of your favorites is posting ;) Haha and your one of the few who thinks Ginny needs to be nice to Penelope – everyone thinks she's evil!), **Nichole Malfoy** (but of course!), **xangelcrisisx** (haha Ginny just rambles and rambles. And yes, Draco is a total prick. That's how we like him!), **dragongirlG **(we shall! I like this Draco a bit, too…*pets him lovingly* And yes, Penelope took them somewhere), **Ili** (I decided it was time to make an evil!Narcissa. She's been redeemed far too much), **Mixuhi Sakura** (thank you! I'm extremely flattered. Hope you continue to enjoy it!), **Luna Writer** (nope, it's not just you. Shtuff does happen), **Madison27** (Yes, what is up with Narcissa? Very curious. Actually, he went to Greece, not France, but it's all good. And Pansy and Blaise are still around, of course), **Sakura1287** (haha I think I would've gone home now too. It's a good thing Ginny secretly wants to ravish Draco underneath it all, eh? I'm flattered you still follow this!), **Brooke Kenobi** (Haha how could I let my fans wait for so long? I've done it far too much. Hmm, Maili does seem more suspicious then Penelope, doesn't she? Because she's so sweet she _must_ be hiding something you know? Well, she's actually not, but…I can see where you're getting that. Woo! I totally surprised you with Narcissa. That was the goal. After you kill Voldemort, you need to think up new villains, you know? And what better than a villainess? Thanks for the review!), **Miss ****Auburn** (woo thanks!), **Bess3** (I updated indeed. Haha, I'm glad I keep you interested with all the crazy, mad wild twists. That's my goal. Of course I'll keep it going. Thanks!), **VioletJersey** (hello lovely! D/G shipper…you know, that was funny, I was just thinking of that the other day. As you know _The Brother Amulets_ is my first fic, and I remember sitting on my couch one day during summer of 2001, thinking, _I want to write an HP fic using the characters already created_. And I knew I wanted Draco in it. And I got the plot of _The Brother Amulets_ all figured out, but you know who it was originally? HERMIONE. Yes. Just think. If I hadn't been struck with the idea to use Ginny, I'd be a hardcore Hermione/Draco shipper now. Frightening, no? Ahem…great story, huh? Want me to tell it again?), **ginnymalfoy79** (whee thanks for ALL the reviews! Building plot is important, however boring. Thanks again!), **Tinka** (oooh nice guess! But you'll just have to see. Thanks!), and **Mitchy** (thank you much!).


	9. Games

**A/N: **So, have you all forgotten about me? I'm awfully sorry this took so damn long, but life butted its head into my life and forced me away from the computer for quite a few weeks. I got a bit of writing in here and there, but as you obviously already know, I didn't get this posted until a month later than I intended . . . um, my point? Ahh, don't think I had one.

Anyway.

I hope you enjoy it, and the D/Gness it possesses.

Excuse any Americanisms, because I was lazy and didn't send it to be checked over by my Brit beta. 

Great big thanks to . . . drum roll please . . . my new and second English beta, **VioletJersey**!

**Chapter Nine**

**_Games_**

Rafe Tannar couldn't have been much older than thirty-five, but youth added nothing to his appeal. He was short, barely five feet, and very round. His hairline looked as though it had been receding for the past fifteen years; his skin was darkly tanned, his clothes were expensively tailored, and he wore masculine diamond rings on three of his fingers. His teeth were very straight and very white, starkly contrasting with his dark face, and his eyes were small, squinty, and black. He was loud, boisterous, and flirty.

Draco didn't like him.

Rafe Tannar was not present when they Flooed in, but clearly he was aware of their intended arrival; he'd posted a maid by the fireplace to wait for them. As soon as they'd dusted themselves off and picked up their things – Blaise carried both his trunk and Pansy's _two _trunks; she complained they were too heavy for her and strained her muscles – the maid led them from the room and through the house.

Draco was impressed with the villa. He was used to splendor and wealth and extravagance and though the place wasn't ostentatiously decorated, he deemed Tannar's place acceptable and, more importantly, livable. 

The walls were a simple white, and a bit lumpy, and adorned every now and then with paintings or mosaics. The floor was made of a dark hardwood with runners placed in the hallways and rugs in the rooms. The dining room wasn't all too impressive; the round table sat only five or six. The sitting room consisted of large, overstuffed white couches that were arranged in an L, facing the corner of the room where a large armoire stood, containing – Draco realized with a deep scowl – a television set. 

He didn't see much more, because the maid turned and led them up the stairs. The walls here did not contain simple hanging frames – they were ornamented with actual direct paintings. They depicted scenes of an ancient time; men and women in robes different from wizarding ones, their feet sandaled, standing in various poses and heads turned to show off their profile. They carried a variety of different things; one man held a blood-tipped spear; another held a trident, and another a goblet in one hand and a theater mask in the other. One of the women had a dove on her shoulder; another had a fan of peacock feathers behind her; another a sheaf of grain.

Greek gods and goddesses.

Draco had only a moment to glance at the paintings. The maid was leading them up quickly, as though in a hurry to be rid of her charge. 

"Here are your rooms," she told them, stopping in the middle of the upstairs hallway. Her English was thickly accented and barely understandable. "Come down for something to eat once you are ready."

"Wait," Blaise said irritably as she began to hurry away. "Which room is for who?"

The maid barely glanced over her shoulder. "Any one you would like."

Draco shifted his weight from one foot to the other; his trunk was beginning to feel heavy. There were three closed doors, enough for them all, so it didn't seem to matter who took what. They were probably all similar anyway. Managing to free one hand, he pushed open a door and stepped inside without a word to Pansy or Blaise.

Candles in sconces blazed to life immediately, revealing a room larger than Draco had been expecting. It was dark; the main colors were the midnight blue thick carpet and glossy brown furniture. Most of the wall space was occupied by built-in bookshelves that contained volumes written in Greek. The only window was shaped like the top half of the moon that, once Draco stood on the bed and peered out, gave the view of a pool below, lit up even though no one was swimming.

The ceiling, however, captivated his attention almost instantly. It was charmed to reflect the night sky; black clouds against an inky sky that matched the paint color. The clouds swirled noiselessly, opening on occasion and to reveal a few twinkling stars. 

Draco set his trunk down, looking up and watching the scene. It was Blaise who distracted him; he came in quietly and whistled in slight awe.

"Damn. Your room is huge," he complained.

Draco didn't bother to look at him. He opened the trunk with his wand and sent his clothing flying into the wardrobe. "That's because I deserve the best," he answered absently.

"It's boring, though," Blaise added gleefully. "Come and see mine."

Draco set his clothes to finish unpacking and followed Blaise across the hall. Though Blaise's room was about half the size of his, it certainly was more . . . interesting. The bed's comforter was a white tiger hide; the carpet was glossy black fur. The walls were painted a dark red and decorated with various exotic animal heads. A lion caught forever in a bellow, an elephant (clearly shrunken to fit the allotted space) with tusks jutting towards the ceiling, a zebra staring at the same spot with glittering black eyes . . . and if there wasn't a dead animal head, then there hung some kind of weapon. Bow, arrows, daggers, swords, spears, as well as what looked like a pair of manacles attached to long chains. To add even more bad taste, all the furniture was made of tan leather; leather desk, leather chair, leather wardrobe, leather shelves. 

And the appalling thing was . . . Draco didn't imagine this Tannar man bought imitations.

Blaise's ceiling, just like his, was bewitched. But it was an angry sky, full of ominous gray clouds that threatened to spill heavy rain, thick snow, or piercing sleet (or perhaps the whole lot of it) any second.

"Rather amazing, isn't it?" Blaise asked, almost fondly.

Draco didn't want to voice his opinion; the dead animals were unnerving, the leather, for all anyone knew, could be from humans, and he felt a chill just from glancing up at the clouds. Instead, he smirked and said, "What's Pansy's like?"

Pansy's, surprisingly, was very feminine. Draco had been anticipating another dark, heavily decorated room. What greeted him was a décor of light and dark pinks, greens, and purples. 

"It's lovely," Pansy said of it all, bending over to sniff a bouquet of red roses on the desk. She was never the one to call anything _lovely_.

Draco wanted to get right down to work. "Where are the blueprints located?" he pressed.

"Tomorrow," Pansy decided, plucking a rose and running it along her cheek. She lay back on her satin sea of a bed. "Tonight, we dine with Rafe Tannar and earn his trust. That way he'll never suspect it was us."

"We're not going to steal anything," Blaise reminded her, poking at the still painting of a landscape on the wall as if to make it move. "With any luck, he'll never know anything happened at all."

"Still," she insisted. "If he ever _does_ figure out anything, he won't be likely to be informing anyone about us."

Draco kept his lips sealed, holding in the urge to tell Pansy she was being utterly ridiculous. If Tannar did suspect someone had tampered with the blueprints, he most definitely would suspect the three of them first. The coincidence of them being there would be too great. Even if they made a spectacular impression on him tonight and gained his approval and respect, they would never earn his trust, especially within the given time. 

"I'm starving," Blaise announced, abruptly. "Didn't the servant say we could go down for something to eat?"

The three returned to the first level, searching for the kitchen. They wandered through half a dozen rooms that seemed a waste of space – who needed four rooms for sitting? – before they found it, and then they were pushed out by the cooks. Since none of them spoke English, and Draco, Pansy, and Blaise certainly didn't speak Greek, they weren't sure where to go next.

It was Blaise who suggested they sit in the adjoining dining room and just wait to be served. He proved to be correct; only five minutes later, the same maid who'd shown them in brought several bowls and plates of food. She paused long enough to tell them what everything was before spinning on her heel and leaving.

There was a thick, white dip called _tzakziki_ accompanied with bread, a bowl of something called _horiatiki_ which just looked like a lettuce-free salad, a flaky, cheesy pie called _tyropita_, some sort of meaty stew called _giouvetsi_ in a clay pot, and pasta that was drowning in a form of tomato soup called _domatosoupa_. For dessert there were pastries which Draco had actually heard of – baklava – and some kind of fried batter smothered in honey called _theepless_. 

Draco, who didn't take to foreign food kindly, found most of it to be decently flavored. The meal was in silence; Blaise was busy shoveling food into his mouth, Pansy seemed to be lost in a deep thought, and Draco just wasn't in the mood for conversation. 

He was just debating whether or not to have a one more baklava when Rafe Tannar made his grand entrance. 

He heard Tannar before he actually saw him. A deep voice shouting loudly in Greek approached the dining room, and a moment later the man flourished through the doorway, clad in an everyday wizard robe of dark purple and gold sandals. He spotted them and a broad grin broke over his face, making his cheeks fatter.

"_Welcome!_" he boomed, as if they made him the happiest man alive for staying in his home. His arms thrown out – did he expect a _hug_? – he strode to the table, either not noticing or ignoring the aggravated glare Blaise was giving him. "I see you have eaten; very good, very good. I hope you are comfortable here?" He clapped Draco on the shoulder and held out a hand to shake. 

Draco tried not to smirk and shook it. Tannar did almost the same thing to Blaise, but Blaise released his hand so quickly it was offensive. Tannar didn't seem to notice or care. His attention turned to Pansy.

"_Hello_, Mister Tannar," she said sweetly, beaming up at him. "It's wonderful to finally meet you."

"Not nearly as wonderful as it is to meet _you_," he declared, kissing her hand with a loud smack. "But please, call me Rafe. All my friends do."

Blaise snorted a laugh.

"Won't you join us?" Pansy asked, pulling out the chair beside her. "I'm afraid we've finished, but I'm −"

"Nonsense, nonsense," Tannar interrupted. "I wouldn't want you to sit here any longer at this uncomfortable table. Come, we'll settle in the lounge."

Blaise and Draco mirrored each other's expression; frustration. The last thing they wanted to do was sit around and talk with Rafe Tannar for a few hours. 

Pansy took Tannar's arm and allowed him to lead her out of the dining room, but she threw a look over her shoulder at the two of them. _Come on!_ the angry look cried. 

Once they'd gone, Blaise threw down his napkin on the table. "First a Muggle party," he sighed. "Now death by boredom."

"She is trying to torture us," Draco agreed, pushing his chair back with a scrape. "But it's getting late; we won't have to sit there very long." He was already planning on yawning and drooping his eyelids to get the hint across.

However, Pansy and Tannar were so wrapped up with one another they barely glanced at the other two. Sitting on an antique loveseat that was certainly not Greek, they were tilted to face each other and chatted about everything from weather to Sophocles. Over the heavy coffee table, Draco and Blaise sat in separate chairs and watched them with dull amazement and piercing annoyance. How Pansy could act so well was beyond them. How Tannar could be so obnoxious was a mystery. 

An hour trickled by slowly, and finally Draco just gave up. To hell with being polite. Abruptly, he stood, but it wasn't until he spoke that Pansy and Tannar looked at him.

"I'm tired," he said flatly. "I think I'm going to bed."

"Oh. Goodnight, Draco," Pansy said with a smile. 

"Goodnight," Tannar echoed.

"I'm going as well," Blaise added, knowing it wouldn't bother them too much. 

After another round of goodnights, Draco at last was heading to his room. Surprisingly, he found he was a little tired. Sleep didn't sound like an extreme option. 

The clouds of his ceiling had cleared, and now a million tiny stars and a crescent moon were visible. They lit the room significantly. Nevertheless, he was asleep within an hour.

* * *

_Thursday, 13 March, 2003_

If Draco had known what was waiting for him downstairs the next morning, he would've never gotten out of bed.

As it was, he didn't know, and he woke up around seven and showered. Once dressed, he knocked on Blaise's door to wake him up as well; he didn't want to descend for breakfast by himself. 

"Wake up," Draco said, opening the door. "I'm hungry."

He got a groan in response and knew Blaise wouldn't be able to fall back asleep. Satisfied, he went next door to Pansy's room. He had to knock several times and still, he didn't get any signs that she'd heard him.

No surprise, either. Her room was empty and her bed was made. Either she'd gotten up and went downstairs already, or she hadn't come up at all.

Draco tried not to think about it. 

As he crossed back to his room and wait for Blaise to get dressed, he noticed a fourth door in the hallway. There had only been three doors the night before. It wasn't unusual for doors to suddenly appear, but for some reason, it made him frown. Without bothering to check it out, he stepped back into his own room and perused the bookshelf as he waited. 

Ten minutes later, Blaise was ready and the two of them went down to the dining room. It was there Draco received one of the biggest shocks of his life.

Tannar and Pansy were seated at the table already, laughing about some joke one of them had just told. They were not the only occupants in the room. 

Ginny Weasley also sat on Tannar's right.

Draco honestly only felt one thing – _stunned._

_Weasley__?_

It was impossible. It was unfathomable It was the least likely thing of all.

But _there she was_. Sitting there, looking undeniably pretty. She'd curled her hair into fat ringlets, the length barely longer than her chin, and they rustled when she moved her head. The dress she wore was white with thin black straps; thin black ribbons ran underneath her bust, around her waist, and crisscrossed between them, and though it covered her chest modestly, the hem didn't reach her knees. She also wore cosmetics; her lips were rosy, her eyes smoky. She was dressed to impress someone. 

_Him._

As the two entered, Weasley was the first to notice them. She was smiling at whatever Pansy and Tannar were laughing at, but when her eyes settled on Draco it widened into something more genuine. Her eyebrows went up as she feigned shock. 

"Draco!" she exclaimed, causing Pansy and Tannar to turn. "I can't believe it! What are you _doing_ here?"

Draco's surprise was melting into anger rapidly. He couldn't answer. Behind him, Blaise was laughing quietly. He wanted to punch him.

Tannar stood up and flourished grandly to Ginny. "Ah, Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Zabini," he breathed, "good morning to you both. May I introduce you to Ginny Weasley? She is the daughter of my dear, dear cousin Mallory."

Ginny's smile faded a bit and she looked mildly agitated. "Whom we nickname Molly. . . ." 

Tannar laughed loudly, clapping her on the shoulder and giving her a shake so powerful she dropped her fork on the floor with a loud clatter. "Right, right. Molly. Breakfast, you two?"

"I'm not hungry," Draco grit out. Blaise pushed past him and sat on Pansy's left, leaving two seats open; one beside him, and the other beside Ginny.

"Then come and sit with us," Pansy said lightly enough, yet the look she threw Draco was dark and meaningful. 

Draco didn't want to sit. He wanted to go up into his room and brood. Anguish over everyone and everything that was bothering him; Pansy for mistaking Weasley for incompetent, Weasley for not _being_ incompetent, Blaise for sitting there and grinning gleefully at him, Gaius Tannar for hiding his blueprints in Greece, Rafe Tannar for keeping the blueprints hidden in a difficult spot, the Ministry for being after him, his _father_ for causing the Ministry to be after him. . . . 

But Draco was not one to brood in private. He'd much rather do it around the people who caused it all and be miserable company; much rather do it where he could size up the situation and figure out a solution. 

Dropping heavily beside Blaise, he shot Ginny the most vicious look he could muster. Her smile dimmed, but after a moment she seemed to realize he didn't bother her, and it brightened once again. 

"I can't believe you're here," she said again, sounding like just the sight of him made her oh so very happy. "First we see each other in Madrid, and now Athens? What are the odds? It's incredible."

"Small world, eh?" Blaise said through a mouthful of food.

Her eyes narrowed very, very slightly when she looked at Blaise. So minute was the gesture that Draco was sure only he, who was judging her reactions very closely, could have possibly noticed. "Yes," she said, her voice pleasant and warm. "Such a small world, I feel I've seen you before. Did you go to Hogwarts?"

"I did." He was smirking. 

"Zabini . . . Zabini . . ." she mulled, trying to jog her memory. Draco had a strong feeling she knew very well who Blaise was. Her cheery exterior was a little _too_ forced. "Oh yes! Blaise! I do remember you now."

"Do you?" Blaise shot Draco an amused look. He was enjoying every damn minute of Draco's anger and frustration, the bastard. Draco glared at him, an expression not too much different from the one he gave Ginny, but that only made Blaise grin wider and give a short laugh.

Ginny turned her attention to Tannar and began to gush about how beautiful the place was, in that falsely sweet manner that made Draco want to strangle her. Pansy, who had been aloof and ignoring Ginny's presence, glowered now that Tannar was no longer paying her any interest. Blaise seemed to be the only one truly having a good time; every time his eyes fell on Draco's face, he would break out in a grin, mouth full or not. 

Draco eventually fell into deep thought.

He didn't accept for one minute that Ginny and Tannar were relatives. The fluke was too great. Somehow – _somehow_ – Ginny had discovered Draco was going to Athens and the exact place he was staying, and she'd come as well. Since she worked for the Ministry, it was probably easy to get Tannar to play along. After all, the Tannar family did have a long history of devotement to the Ministry of Magic. 

_Pansy, you moron_, Draco thought furiously. _You picked the wrong person. Ginny Weasley may not be the most competent person alive, but she's damn closer than you realized. _

Ginny was smart. She was quick. And she was determined. He couldn't just leave and hope to lose her. No, not anymore. She would find him again; she'd found him twice. 

What to do about it?

Thwart her somehow? Make her mess up horribly, have her sent back to the Ministry, and have another replace her? Someone truly slow and dispassionate? Maybe. But that would take time and effort. Besides, what if there wasn't anyone dimwitted enough in the entire Ministry? Nobody could just walk off the street and hope to work in the Defense Department. The powers-that-be normally chose intelligent and qualified people, even as interns. 

_Nice thinking, Malfoy. Couldn't have thought of this before, could you?_

"What do you think, Draco?" Ginny's voice cut in. 

He blinked and focused on her; she was staring expectantly at him. "About what?" he asked shortly.

Tannar smiled; Ginny rolled her eyes. "The Quidditch pitch outside. Tannar has one," she explained, understanding he hadn't been paying attention. "Are you up for a match after breakfast?"

It was on the tip of his tongue to say no. But then the conclusion struck him.

_You can't avoid her_.

She looked at him patiently, giving him a small smile and waiting for his response. She was trusting – trusting that he had no idea she worked for the Ministry, trusting that he couldn't get away, trusting that he couldn't say no, not forever. Eventually he'd have to say yes. _Eventually_.

Ginny Weasley was there to bring him back to England. She wasn't there to hit him over the head with a club and lock him in a trunk and ship him to Azkaban. She wasn't there to drag him back in chains. No. She was there to bring him home _willingly_. Everything depended on him. _Not her._

It would be extremely and vibrantly pleasing to disappoint her. 

_All right, Weasley,_ Draco thought, a grin slowly spreading over his face. _I'll take your bait. I'll play your game._

_And I'll win._

"That sounds like a good idea," he said; Blaise coughed on whatever he was eating, Pansy's eyes widened with astonishment. 

Ginny pretended not to notice. She appeared completely thrilled. "All right, I'll just run up and change. Meet me on the pitch in fifteen minutes."

* * *

The villa's grounds were magnificent. The acres of lush, green land went on forever − or almost forever, until the grass gave way to a sheer drop-off of twenty or so feet. Standing on the edge, one could look out into the expanse of the Mediterranean and see nothing but blue water and hear nothing but the gentle lap of waves below.

The pool area was tiled in colorful mosaics and furnished with cushioned lawn chairs as well as tables with umbrellas. To the side was a white pergola with vines twining around the supports; in its shade sat a long counter which Tannar promised one of his men would work and serve drinks from when they needed it. 

Off to the left was the gardens; trees of every shape and flowers and shrubs of every color – blue, red, pink, yellow, orange, green, purple, white – grew along the paths. Orchids, daffodils, crocuses, hyacinths, sunflowers, tulips, roses, Japanese maples, weeping willows, honeysuckles, and many more Ginny didn't recognize . . . clearly magic was keeping most of them alive and thriving. Lining the drop-off and starkly contrasting with the blue sea beyond was a large white wall from which high chaparrals and cliff roses grew. The many delicious scents carried on the ocean's breeze and reached Ginny's nose as she headed past the pool, now dressed in shorts and a light top, to join Draco on the Quidditch pitch.

She felt that now-familiar thrill of apprehension as she squinted up against the bright sun, watching as he flew aimlessly on one of Tannar's several SilverWing 2000s. 

_What if I mess up?_

Telling herself to forget worrying, she didn't need to bother herself with _what ifs_, she picked up the broomstick a servant had left on the pitch and kicked up into the air. Everything heavy within her vanished and she grinned. _Just wait until I tell Ron I flew on a SilverWing 2000_, she thought joyfully, pulling up to Draco's height.

"How do you expect to play with only two people, Weasley?" he called casually over his shoulder, directing his broom away from her. "If I recall correctly we're both Seekers."

"You recall incorrectly," she replied, easily catching up until they were flying side by side. "Only for one year I played Seeker. When Harry came back the next, I became a Chaser."

"That'll make for an exciting match – a Chaser and a Seeker," he commented dryly, pulling up abruptly. 

She hurried after him, irritation gathering. "I trust that you're not so terrible at Quidditch that you can only play _one_ position, Malfoy," she said crisply. "_I'm_ decent at Keeper – you could attempt to score on me −"

Draco stopped suddenly and brought his broom around to face her. She nearly collided into him – only by luck, not skill, did she manage to jerk to a halt, and nearly tumbled off in the process. Almost absently Draco grabbed her arm to keep her from careening forward, and she fell back with a most uncomfortable thump. 

"Good at every position, are you, Weasley?" he sneered at her. 

She would have been stupid to miss his innuendo; she felt her face flush and hated herself for overacting. Nudging her arm, she shrugged off his hand and attempted a glare. "Look, Draco, if you didn't want to play you didn't have to come out here. There's a million other things we could do."

He appeared thoughtful. "I could think of one."

Ginny huffed – childish, she admitted, but it was an honest reaction. Why did he keep referring to sexual things from her innocent intentions? Though it made her cheeks warm, it also grated her nerves. 

And then he was laughing at her − laughing! Enjoying her impatience and discomfort with a genuine, deep laugh that was so unlike him! She gripped her broom handle tightly and gritted her teeth. 

"All right, Weasley," he said, finally settling down to a grin. "_I'll_ be Keeper and you try and score on me. Satisfied?"

No, of course she wasn't. She angled her broom down and sped for the ground, trying to calm herself. _Don't let him get to you, he's just trying to get a rise out of you . . ._

A trunk containing Quidditch balls sat near the end of the pitch; clearly Tannar had sent his servants to do everything. Ginny hopped off her broom, grabbed two Quaffles, and then headed back up towards the three hoops where Draco was waiting.  

"Let's see if you're any good, Malfoy," she said and imitated one of his sneers. 

They played for a good hour. Ginny charmed the Quaffles to fly straight back at her as soon as they went through the hoops – or otherwise. She didn't have to worry about much other than scoring, but that proved to be enough; Draco was a pretty good Keeper. More than pretty good, actually. She'd never thought her abilities as a Chaser to be exceptional, but she was above average and normally found it easy to score when only having to contend with the Keeper. With Draco, she did have to maneuver quite a bit to get any Quaffles past him.

After a while they switched; Ginny as Keeper, Draco as the Chaser. Halfway through this arrangement Draco suddenly remembered the song he'd created years ago, and began to sing loudly and obnoxiously a female version of "Weasley is Our King" or, in the current case, _Queen_. 

Ginny tried to catch the Quaffles directly with her hands so she could heave them at his head.

He did seem to redeem himself, however, when he grew so hot that he had to take his shirt off. Ginny wanted desperately not to goggle like a teenager at his smooth – though a bit pale – chest and, annoyed with him for distracting her and scoring _twice_, threw the Quaffles she caught back three times as hard. 

Finally, Draco grew tired of singing, mostly because his mouth became too dry. Ginny was fairly panting and suggested they head back inside for a drink.

They didn't have to go so far, it turned out; one of Tannar's servants was standing behind the bar by the pool, waiting to serve them. Ginny began to suspect Tannar's help was magical and appeared only when needed. She would have to ask him how he managed a trick like that.

Draco asked only for water, while Ginny wanted a Sherry – she'd grown fond of them, and after all, only one wasn't going to hurt. 

"Is that all you ever drink?" Ginny asked, gesturing at his glass. "Water?"

"It's all I need," he replied easily. "And when one perspires, one needs to regain the water lost."

Ginny studied him and wanted to laugh, mostly from his ridiculous statement, but also from the fact that he made sweat look _attractive_. It was dripping down the sides of his face and had dampened his hairline, yet he still looked untouchable. _Only Draco Malfoy could achieve that_, she thought wryly. _Only Malfoy._

"So why didn't you tell me you were friends with Pansy and Blaise?" she pressed offhandedly. "When I asked you who your friends were the other day, 'Pansy and Blaise' would've been the correct response, I should think."

His eyes narrowed. "I don't like you prying into my life, Weasley," he said amiably, gazing towards the ocean. "As it is, I don't think you have much of a right to know who my friends are."

She sighed exasperatedly. All the secrecy . . . _what_ was he trying to hide? Was he somehow concerned that if Ginny knew he still kept in contact with Blaise and Pansy, she would figure out he was supposed to be dead? That really didn't make much logical sense. 

_What are you up to, Malfoy?_

They drank in silence for a while. Ginny tried to sort through his reasoning behind guarding his life, but gave up quickly. It would be pointless to dwell on it now; she had to focus on _Draco__._

"Up for some more Quidditch?" she asked, grinning challengingly.

He gave a tight smile. "No, actually. Too hot. I'm just going to take a sho −"

"Too hot?" Ginny interrupted. She felt a jolt of nervousness; this was the exact opportunity she'd been waiting for. Taking a deep breath, she plunged on, "That's easily fixed. Let's go swimming."

He glanced at the pool and his smile turned into a smirk. "I don't have a bathing suit," he replied in a tone that closed the subject.

_But I do_, she thought, and shot him an easy grin, despite her jumpy insides. She lifted off her shirt and threw it to the side, carefully avoiding his eyes. Next off were her shorts. In seconds she stood before him, wearing nothing but a revealing cream colored halter bikini that she'd borrowed from Penelope. The other girl had practically thrown it at her as soon as Ginny told her and Maili she was going to Athens.

_"Take this. I'm sure it'll help you snare this guy's attention."_

Ginny had taken it, and shoved it into her trunk with no intentions of wearing it. But as she'd been changing clothes earlier, it had just been _staring_ at her from her piles of clothing, begging to be worn. She'd thought it wouldn't hurt to try it on, and after a few quick adjustments in the chest (smaller) and hips (wider), it had fit perfectly. 

_I look pretty damn good_, Ginny had thought after admiring every angle in a mirror, and before she could change her mind, had thrown something over it and hurried to meet Draco on the pitch. 

Though the match had been hot, she hadn't shed her shirt as he had. She wanted to be able to see his reaction clearly once she did. It would be nice to know if he found her attractive or as pale and gawky as she felt. 

She was glad she'd waited.

His eyes widened slightly, and he ran them down the length of her body, languorously, before reaching her face again. He didn't try to be subtle; when he met her gaze once more, he had a tiny, knowing smile on his lips. 

She wished her face would stop flaming and found her voice, a little shaky at first. "You don't need a bathing suit," she told him. "Just go in your trousers. You _are_ a wizard, after all. You can dry them." Feeling more at ease now that he was back to smirking, she crossed her arms and added pointedly, albeit daringly, "Besides. I'm not talking about the pool."

His eyebrows knitted together in brief confusion. She inclined her head towards the ocean and he followed her indication. 

"Live a little, Malfoy."

She watched his profile. His face was now blank, but his gray eyes were clouded with indecision. She wasn't worried, however; she knew he'd say yes. He always did. 

"How do we get down there?" he asked at last, fixing her with a serious look. 

She wasn't sure if she was hurt or relieved that he no longer seemed to notice she was nearly naked. "Broomstick, of course," she said like it was obvious. "We can use the same one – no sense in keeping track of two when one will hold us both."

Almost reluctantly, he grinned back. "I get to steer," he said, and it wasn't a request. It was an order. 

They got on the same broom and Draco headed towards the cliffs. Ginny felt elated for three reasons – she was flying, she was touching Draco's bare stomach, but mostly . . . her plan was _working_. 

So far, she'd talked Draco into everything she'd wanted. He would always refuse at first, but it was dependable that he would change his mind. Whether she coaxed him into it or he decided to accept from his own private, unfathomable reasons didn't matter. The fact was he agreed and they were spending time together. Eventually he'd _have_ to feel something for her. Something positive. And it was up to her to make sure his feelings were strong enough to bring him back to England. 

Granted, it wasn't as easy as all that. She'd already run into a couple of problems – namely, Blaise and Pansy. But she'd figure out their purpose with Draco and learn how to deal with them soon enough. After all, she'd followed Draco to Athens, hadn't she? Though the story she'd forced Tannar to tell them – by order of the Ministry – was slightly unbelievable and highly coincidental, neither of the three had reason to believe otherwise. 

Yes, it was safe to say she could handle Blaise and Pansy. Their time would come.

But right now was Draco's time. 

The cliff lining the sea was a ninety degree drop straight down into the water. Ginny looked up and down the coast and saw no beaches within sight. No problem. When Draco brought the broom to a halt a few feet above the surface, Ginny pulled out her wand and tapped it against the wood. "_Strigare__ Momentum_," she said loudly, and instantly the broom became as solid and unmovable as a rock. 

"We're swimming _here_," Draco said dully and doubtfully as she re-pocketed her wand.

"Well, Draco, you were the one steering," she said kindly, "and if you see a better place, do let me know." With that, she slid off the broom and crashed into the water with an ungraceful splash.

It was shockingly cold. Surfacing, she gasped and scanned the air for Draco. "It's _freezing_," she cried once she'd spotted him. She treaded water as little waves slapped against her, pushing her directly underneath him and closer to the rock wall. 

"I imagine it is," he said serenely, looking down to follow her movement. "It _is_ March."

"Well?" she pressed, already short of breath – damn, it was tiring. "Are you coming in?" 

Draco's chest rose and fell as he sighed – why couldn't she stop looking at his _chest?_ – but he shrugged as if to say "what the hell" and hoisted himself up to stand on the broom. Ginny marveled that he could balance; he kept his arms out for only a moment before he dove in. 

He came up, a good distance away from her, blowing water from his mouth and tossing his head. "It is a bit chilly, eh?" he said, sounding the closest to playful she'd heard yet.

"It _is_ March," she retorted.

She dove under and tried to swim some warmth into her bones. When she resurfaced for air, she looked around for Draco and saw he was on his back, his eyes closed, drifting a few feet away from her. He appeared to be enjoying the warm sun. 

She smiled. _Tsk__, tsk, Malfoy . . . putting down your guard_, she thought snidely.

Inhaling deeply, she went under and swam towards him so as not to alert him to her approach. Her muscles were tight with cold, but the more she moved the looser they became. When she surfaced directly beside him, he merely opened one eye lazily, saw it was her, and closed it again.

"How long can you hold your breath, Malfoy?" she asked teasingly, and without much more warning she placed both hands on his face and shoved him under.

He immediately started and struggled; slightly afraid she might have infuriated him, she let him up without much of a fight. He resurfaced coughing and slapping at the water to keep afloat – for a second it looked like she _had_ angered him. But then he was smirking at her, challenging her, taunting her to try it again. 

"I can hold my breath _much_ longer than any pathetic Weasley," he snarled, and lunged for her. 

She shrieked and swam away from him. As he was too close, he easily grabbed her ankles, tugging her down. She realized she was laughing before she went under – once there she couldn't do much but exhale. 

_This has to be something Malfoy enjoys_, she thought contentedly. _Drowning a Weasley? He _must_ be having something of a good time . . ._

He certainly was grinning every time she happened to get a clear view of him. 

They didn't fool around in the water for very long – Ginny lost energy rapidly. After ten minutes or so, she clawed her way to fresh air and managed to shout out, "Enough, enough!" before Malfoy dunked her back under. 

"Tired of losing, Weasley?" Draco asked arrogantly, and she couldn't do much more than smile at him; he _had_ been beating her, after all. 

She swam back to the broom and discovered it was higher up than she remembered. She reached up as far as she could and her fingertips barely brushed the handle. Groaning, she settled back into the water. "I can't reach," she whined to Draco.

Draco sighed as if fed up with her. He somehow had more strength than she did and bounded out of the water, grabbing the broom handle firmly. In a matter of seconds he had swung himself over and was dripping water on her upturned face. She turned away and spat some out; when she'd returned her gaze upwards Draco was holding out his hand for her.

She gripped him firmly, and he gripped back just as hard, if not more so. Their skin was slick from water, but Draco was able to lift her up enough to grab her other hand and yank her from the water. The next instant, Ginny was swinging her leg over the broom and then she was seated on it.

Except she happened to be in Draco's lap, straddling his thighs, sopping wet in a flimsy bikini, and facing him directly.

Ginny felt a rush of warmth in her insides that heated her goose-fleshed skin. Her breath caught in her throat and she felt his sensual gaze roaming over her, felt trapped by her own erotic reaction. What _was_ it about him that made her despise him when he spoke, but melt into a puddle of longing when he only looked?

This close to him, she could study his magnificent face in detail. His complexion truly was perfect – no signs of any blemishes . . . then again, peering even closer, she saw a faint scar just under his right eyebrow. Intrigued, she brushed her finger over it. "What happened?" she whispered, meeting his eyes. 

"Glass," he murmured, his breath on her cheek. "A jar exploded."

Ginny took a chance – after kissing him, she supposed she could do anything – and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Only got you in one spot?" she said softly.

His hands were resting on her waist and he tugged on the elastic part of her bikini bottom. With a tiny quirk of his lips, he replied, "I was lucky."

She really wished he shouldn't keep looking at her like that; she was beginning to lose her senses. In fact, she couldn't quite remember what was so bad about kissing him . . . he clearly _wanted_ her to, if he didn't he wouldn't have that heavy-lidded, glazed expression that tempted her, called to her. . . . 

This time, it was him who initiated it. He leaned forward and pressed a firm, short kiss on her mouth. Teasing her. Reminding her of what it was like. 

Chills were going up her spine even as her face flamed. _All from one little kiss._

She was well aware it would help solidify Draco's feelings for her if she leaned forward and trapped his mouth in a longer kiss. She was well aware that she couldn't possibly hope to entangle Draco and take him back to England unless she became his lover. She was well aware it was a reality she'd been afraid to admit to herself, well aware it was true, well aware she couldn't simply _befriend_ him and hope he would follow her home. . . .

But all this knowledge didn't change the fact that she _wanted_ to kiss him. 

_Job?_ What job? _Ministry?_ What Ministry? All that existed was Draco. 

Ginny threaded her hand through the wet hair on the back of his neck and pulled his face to hers. Then they were kissing, and they were touching, and he was responding – hungrily, fiercely, holding her against him so closely she could feel the steady thump, thump, thump of his heart. His tongue skimmed her bottom lip and she made a soft noise in the back of her throat. 

She had to be dreaming. There was no other explanation. How could a _kiss_ make her feel so drunken, so intoxicated? It couldn't be real. Draco was an illusion; his touch was fantasy. 

_Never wake up,_ she prayed ardently. 

No sooner had these words crossed her mind than did Draco pull away, startling her eyes open. His gaze was intense; deep. He seemed so unruffled while she felt wild; her cheeks felt hot, her heart was pounding madly, and her pulse was racing. How could he be so calm?

"Is this what you want, Ginny?" he said quietly. 

Is this what she wanted? Up until that moment she would've said no instantaneously, but now she only wanted to moan _yes_. Some common sense remained, however, and she simply asked breathlessly, "What do you mean?"

His eyes were clear, cool . . . almost blue. They pierced into her, saying something without words . . . but what? What was he subconsciously trying to say to her? 

"Is this what you came here for?" he demanded in a low voice. 

So exquisitely slowly was her brain starting to function again. She took a minute to register what he was saying. _Partially_, she thought dazedly. _In a way, yes. I've come to seduce you, but only so I can take you to prison._

He needn't know about the last part.

"Yes," she whispered, starting to regain some strength. "You fascinate me, Draco." She wiped a hand over his forehead to slick back some dripping strands of hair. "Ever since I saw you at that Muggle party . . . you're all I've been able to think about."

Something flashed in his eyes. Perhaps it was amusement, perhaps it was conceit, perhaps it was shock. Either way, it was gone in an instant. "Be careful, Ginny," he breathed, his mouth near her ear. "You're playing a game too far out of your league."

Ginny shivered. "I'll be the judge of that, Malfoy," she promised softly. 

* * *

**A/N:** I am horribly ashamed to say that I didn't do individual thank yous this time. Do expect them next chapter. Thank you all who reviewed last chapter, even if I don't say your name specifically. You know who you are anyway, and so do I. 

Next chapter, expect: a tad bit more D/G bonding, a closer look at Draco and Pansy's relationship, and the start of some action (and by action, I mean action action, not D/G . . . yet).

Chapter 10 is written and hopefully, will be here within a month. 

Until then!


	10. Too Easy

A/N: Woo-ee, once again, I promised and I did not deliver. I'm about a week or so over my deadline. Ehh…sorry! Chapter 11 is written, but it will probably be a while before it's ready to post (a while being a month, give or take a bit). I've been working and schooling like a _mother._ And even though summer is coming in about three weeks (yesssss!), I'm going to be busy most of the time, if not out of town or drum-lining, I'll be working.

Do expect updates, though! I haven't abandoned this one yet. No, not nearly.

Oodles of thanks to VioletJersey for fixing my mistakes, and to Elaine for Brit-isizing (Brit-isicing?) everything.

**Chapter Ten**

**_Too Easy_**

They lay out in the sun afterwards, just along the edge of the cliff, cushioned by grass and warmed by the sun overhead. Draco was beginning to feel his eyelids droop lazily; the combination of the heat and gentle roaring of the ocean was comforting him a little too much.

Vaguely, in the back of his mind, he could sense something nagging at him, begging to be heard. He was aware it was his better judgment trying to have its say, trying to warn him away from Ginny.

But he was through trying to get away from her. He would try a new approach, instead. Complying with her every request and having her fall madly in love with him. How could she resist? _I'm devilishly good looking,_ Draco reminded himself with a slow grin.

The main thing was to keep her occupied for the next month. Continue to see her, all the while working on The Plan with Pansy and Blaise. And if it turned out he couldn't do both, then he'd just keep Ginny away from them while _they_ worked. When the time came they could tell him everything he needed to know.

Oh, Pansy and Blaise would be mad, no doubt about that. But he'd simply remind them that they'd asked for _his_ help, not vice versa. With him came the unpleasant – and unavoidable – baggage of the being sought by the Ministry. They'd have to accept that the only way he could contribute with the planning was to keep Ginny out of it all.

Draco turned his head and glanced at her. She was staring up at the sky, soberly lost in whatever she was thinking about.

_I don't think working with them behind her back will be a problem_, he thought satisfactorily. After all, he did have a way with women. Deceiving them never proved to be an issue.

"That cloud looks like a hippogriff," Ginny commented suddenly, pointing upwards.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "It looks like a mass of white," he corrected.

She clicked her tongue. "No imagination, Draco," she said disapprovingly. "No imagination whatsoever."

"I'm realistic," he said, fairly indignant. "Clouds are just random shapes made by clinging water droplets. Or, in your hippogriff's case, ice crystals."

Ginny laughed, amused. "How the hell do you know that?"

"It's an altocumulus cloud," he explained, feeling her staring at him from the corner of his eye. "They're considered middle clouds in the atmosphere; they're lower than some as well as higher than some. Hence, the ice crystals."

She was still laughing. "You're so full of crap, Draco. You're just making it up."

"I am _not_," he insisted, trying to remain serious. "Why would I make it up?"

"Because you're trying to _impress_ me," she said, rolling onto her side and propping her head up with one hand to look down at him.

He was taken aback by how happy she looked . . . this would be almost too easy. "I assure you, Weasley," he replied, allowing a small grin, "my intelligence is not what will impress you. It will be a combination of _all_ my astounding traits."

"Hmm. Spite, cruelty, maliciousness, evilness?" she ticked off.

"They all mean the same thing," he shot back calmly. "Broaden your vocabulary, Weasley."

"It's not a matter of _vocabulary,_ Malfoy, it's a matter of you being one dimensional," she retorted.

"Are you implying," he said, staring up at her gravely, "that I have only one trait?"

"Spite, cruelty, maliciousness, or evilness. Take your pick."

"As you have clearly just witnessed," he replied delicately, "I am extremely smart. I am also _amazingly_ funny. I am devastatingly handsome. I am −"

"Insanely modest," she finished. "But enough about you. Let's talk about me."

He released his breath slowly. "Well, if you wish," he said, feigning reluctance. "But I'm warning you now that we will both grow bored within five minutes."

"I think I've had a rather exciting life," she debated, flashing a mysterious smile.

"You're entitled to your opinion, of course," he said smoothly. Blinking against the sun, he spotted something he'd never noticed before. "You know, you have a dimple just there," he said, poking her cheek.

"Well, aren't you observant?" she answered tartly. "It's only been there, oh, I don't know, since I've known you."

She would have continued, but she was cut off by a distant voice calling Draco's name. He sat up and the two of them gazed towards the villa. They were a good distance away; the bright colors of the gardens and the white of the house was all that was visible.

"That's probably Pansy," Draco said, getting to his feet.

"Wouldn't want to know you were airing in the sun with a Weasley," Ginny said dryly.

"To be perfectly frank, yes," Draco replied, picking up his shoes and throwing the broomstick over his bare shoulder. "Come on, we'll walk."

They strolled side by side in silence for a few minutes. The grass tickled underfoot, the water dripped from his hair and trickled down his back . . . and he felt a curious sense of elation. It wasn't only the beautiful day that was making him feel lighter. It was the fact he knew how to deal with his Ministry problem. Now everything rested in his own hands. Not Pansy's, not the Ministry's, and certainly not Weasley's.

Things were finally starting to work out.

"Why are you friends with them?" Ginny asked abruptly.

"With who?"

"Draco. Don't be thick."

He shrugged. "We understand each other," he said briefly.

"Yeah? Well, I understand a rock, but I'm not friends with it."

"While it may be possible you have the IQ of a rock, I doubt you understand it," he said, a tad touchy.

"Okay, you understand each other," she prompted. "So what? Do you get along? Do you like them? It takes more than understanding, you know."

"What does?"

"_Friendship_, you moron."

Draco squelched the grin that was trying to break through. "We also trust each other," he said. "Trust is something I deem necessary."

"You mean you trust that Pansy won't betray you behind your back?" she asked, doubtful.

"Pansy wouldn't. Blaise, maybe," he answered.

"Ah. So you don't trust Blaise completely."

"I trust him enough," he said in an offhand tone. "Pansy's got him under her thumb, so it's safe to assume he wouldn't try anything and risk angering her."

"What type of relationship do Pansy and you have?" she frowned and he could've sworn he heard envy. Could it be she was already infatuated with him? _Of course she is_, he thought cockily. This definitely _would_ be too easy. "I take it you aren't . . . _together_," she added tentatively, "but. . . ."

"Now you're approaching the questions I prefer not to tell you," he said, trying to sound intriguingly elusive.

That shut her up. He prayed she'd soon stop with all the inquisitions. If not, he'd have to figure out some pretty fantastic lies. _And believe me, they won't be anywhere near the quality of the "biographer" lie,_ he thought cynically.

When they reached the pool, they found Pansy seated in one of the reclining, cushioned chairs wearing a billowy skirt down to her knees and a clinging white top that was quite see-through. On her head was a wide-brimmed straw hat and in her hand was a tall glass of something colorful accented with a miniature umbrella.

"About time," she said with calm venom. She rose and cast her eyes, brilliantly blue against the rippling water of the pool behind her, on Ginny. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to take Draco away," she told her with a smile that dared argument. "We have something to discuss. Perhaps you'd like to relax out here?"

Ginny tensed, but she returned the smile warmly. "Sure. That sounds good. I'll see you both at lunch, then."

"See you then," Pansy said falsely, and took Draco's arm.

Draco left the broomstick leaning against the house before they entered. They were silent as they stepped through the door; it wasn't until they were climbing the stairs to the second level that Pansy spoke. "We're doing it now, Draco."

It was fair to say Draco was shocked. "_Now_?" he repeated, dropping her arm and stopping mid-stair.

"Just the final planning," she explained calmly, continuing her ascent. "We'll be doing _it_ tonight."

Draco looked over the railing to make sure Ginny Weasley was nowhere nearby; they couldn't be _too_ safe. Satisfied that she wasn't, he climbed the steps two at a time to catch Pansy.

"Besides," she went on, sensing he was behind her, "we need to chat, Draco. You and I."

"Where's Blaise?"

"He'll be right along," she answered. "Come on, into my room. I'll seal it so no one can overhear or accidentally walk in."

Draco could sense he was in for a lecture on the topic of Weasley and was not looking forward to it. However, it was inevitable as well as necessary. He dropped into an overstuffed light purple chair beside Pansy's fireplace and watched as she cast the appropriate spells on the door and walls.

"There," she said when she'd finished. She crossed the room and sat on her bed, cross-legged and serious. "Now. What's the situation with Weasley?" she pressed. One thing about Pansy; she got to the point.

"She found me," responded Draco directly. "She's . . . not as daft as we'd hoped."

"Perhaps," Pansy said with a slight nod. "Or perhaps you're just not covering your tracks well enough."

Draco's mouth nearly dropped open. Did she honestly think Ginny found him because of his own errors? Did she think he left a trail of bread crumbs for Weasley to follow? "Pansy, this isn't my fault," he insisted angrily.

"Then who's fault is it, Draco?" she asked with a raised eyebrow and a haughty expression. "Surely not mine?"

He scowled. It wasn't really hers, either, he realized. After all, going on the evidence she had, she'd chosen the right person for the job. Who was to know that Weasley was actually capable of such a task?

"Now, she is becoming a pest," Pansy said evenly, bringing her knee to her chest and inspecting her toenail polish. "Having her here only jeopardizes The Plan. I want you to get rid of her," she prompted casually. "We'll just have you on the run again. I know it's inconvenient," she relented loudly, knowing he was going to protest without even glancing up, "but it's the only safe alternative."

"Pansy, it's unreasonable," he argued, sitting up straighter. "If we keep Weasley around, I'll always know where she is. I'll be aware of her progress and how close she's getting. I won't be surprised by some Ministry official bursting into my flat, ready to Avada Kedrava me."

"Draco," she said, smiling as if speaking to a child, "_you_ need to be reasonable. If you keep hanging around Ginny, the two of you will grow closer and closer. She'll learn everything about you. You just told me yourself she's not a moron. Eventually, she'll discover what we're trying to do; most likely without your awareness that she knows. In the end, an official _will_ come and Avada Kedrava you, because she sent them."

"That may be true," Draco said slowly. "But by the time she figures out the details, it'll have happened. Azakaban will be freed, and I'll be gone."

Pansy was beginning to lose her patience. "If I didn't know any better, my dear," she said placidly, "I'd say you liked her."

Draco remained smooth. "It's not a matter of liking or disliking her, Pansy. It's a matter of me not wanting to be on the run again. How can I help you two if I'm constantly switching countries −?"

"How can you _help_," she cut in sharply, "if you're out shagging Weasley every night?"

He groaned and rubbed his face with his hands, aggravated. "_Pansy_, honestly," he complained. "I can _handle_ her. She won't be a problem."

"Draco, I don't give a fuck if you can handle her or _not_! I want her _gone_. Do you understand me?" She was stepping over the threshold of dark anger into shrill fury.

"How do you propose I get rid of her, then, Pansy?" he asked with a tight smile and mock interest. "Just shove her over a cliff and hope the Ministry doesn't notice she's gone?"

"You're a smart boy, Draco," she said coldly. "Think of something. Preferably something less conspicuous."

"Look, Pansy," he said firmly, standing and crossing the room. He braced himself directly in front of her. "Might I remind you this entire Plan is _your_ idea? Not mine? I didn't beg you to let me help. You asked me. And if you want my help, you let me do things my way. You let me deal with the Ministry _my_ way. If not, then you and Blaise are on your own.

"And might I _also_ remind you," he added, "that Azkaban is impermeable with three people? Imagine it with only two. It's impossible."

She was glaring up at him hatefully now, absolutely livid. Draco sighed inwardly; he had known she would take this difficultly. If her eyes were any indication, she was taking it so difficultly that the urge to jump up and scratch his face was becoming irresistible.

_She'll get over it. She knows I'm right._

"You wouldn't _dare_ leave us," Pansy whispered fiercely. "I could – and _would –_ turn you into the Ministry the very instant you turned your back."

_How do you know Pansy won't betray you behind your back? . . . _Ginny's words came floating back to him. He disregarded them and bended to bring his face close to Pansy's. "You wouldn't dare turn me in," he whispered back. Smirking, he raked his gaze over her. "You love me too much."

That seemed to do it. With a shriek, she made her move. She attempted to pummel his chest with her fists, but he easily caught her wrists and lifted them above her head. Forcefully, she tried to break free as well as thrash her legs, which were a bit too close to his groin for comfort. To squelch her struggles, he fell on top of her on the bed, pinning her arms to the mattress and holding her still with his weight.

"You're wrong, you know," she snarled in a low voice, her face in an enraged grimace. "I stopped loving you a long time ago."

His grin was cold. "No, you didn't."

She looked away and gave a jolt in attempt to throw him off. He barely moved. "Get off me," she ordered.

"Promise to behave?"

"Draco, you'll be lucky if I don't castrate you once I'm free."

"Then no, I don't think I can."

She met his gaze again, her complexion now a stony mask; her eyes continued to spit fire at him. "I'm only going to tell you one more time," she warned faintly.

"Or what?" He tilted his head to the side and waited pleasantly.

She opened her mouth to reply – something scorching and incensed, no doubt – but at that moment there was a loud knock on the door. Taken by surprise, he glanced over, having forgotten Blaise was supposed to be meeting them. _Perfect timing, Zabini_, he thought.

He threw Pansy one last look, one that warned her not to have a go at him as soon as his back was turned, and slipped off her and the bed. Either she was too mad to try, or she had just given up, but she merely sat up and fumed as Draco unsealed the door to let Blaise in.

"About time," Blaise whined as soon as the door swung open. He stalked in, gazed at Pansy, and then turned back to Draco, appearing frustrated. "So, Malfoy," he said sharply, crossing his arms over his chest. "What the bloody hell is going on with you and Weasley?"

* * *

Ginny remained outside for a few more minutes, lounging in the shade of an umbrella and resting her eyes. She managed to stay awake only because her mind was racing with a million and one thoughts.

Okay, where to go from here? She had Draco back in her company, and she had just scored some serious positive points with him. Now all she had to do was keep him around, even after they left Greece.

Well, their time here in Greece would be easy enough. She'd just think of things for them to do; after all, there were quite a few. They could play the several wizarding games Tannar had in one of his sitting rooms. They could go into town and spend some time having lunch and shopping . . . or _walking_, more like, knowing Draco. They could spend an afternoon in the gardens just talking. They could go swimming again. They could get drunk and stay up all night and tell each other their deep, dark secrets. . . .

But of course Ginny herself would refrain from that activity. She'd just need to slip a Truth Potion into his drink and _bam_ – she'd know just what he was up to.

The more she thought of the scheme, the more she liked it. If she knew what secrets he was keeping from her, then it would be easier to figure out how to go about trapping his affections.

_Well, first, think about it, Weasely_, she ordered herself. _You know that the blueprints of Azkaban prison are in the villa. And you heard Blaise, Pansy, and Draco all talking about it when you were spying on them yesterday. So obviously they're here to steal the blueprints and he's trying to keep _that_ from you. _

_But_ _the question is, _why_ do they want the blueprints_?

She would have to find out. Though she was pretty confident that the former Slytherins wouldn't be able to steal the prints – she'd warned Tannar that the blueprints were in danger and the security protecting them needed to be heightened − it would still be beneficial to know why Draco wanted them in the first place.

Tonight seemed like a good time to give him a Truth Potion, she decided. At dinner, she could slip the potion into his beverage . . . she'd convince him to have something other than water, so he wouldn't be able to see or taste it. Then, she'd simply excuse the two of them, take him somewhere where Blaise and Pansy couldn't interrupt them, and ask him what was going on. After a quick Memory Charm, she'd have the answers she needed and he wouldn't remember a thing.

She nodded and smiled, satisfied with herself. Standing, her stretched her arms and tilted her head to the sky, enjoying the last seconds of sunshine. She had a lot of work to do before dinner, and that work required being cooped up in her room brewing a Veritaserum.

Inside the villa, the air was cool and the uncarpeted parts of the stone floor were chilly underneath her feet. Instead of going straight up to her room, she made her way to the fireplace hooked up to the Floo network. She needed to contact Creedmoore first, before she did anything else. She had yet to talk to him since she'd left England. He'd owled her a good half dozen times, but she'd put off answering, wanting to reply only when she knew more about the situation.

Well, she still wasn't completely sure about everything. But she knew enough, and if she let much more time pass, she would end up having a very rabid Creedmoore Apparating in on her when she least expected – and wanted – him to.

She posted two maids in front of the two entrances leading into the room, giving them strict instructions to let _no one_ in. Not even Rafe Tannar. "If you do," she said with forced menace, "I'll see to it that you are relieved of any jobs within this country _and_ the continent."

Empty threat, but they seemed frightened nonetheless.

Five minutes later, Ginny was on her knees with her head on the fire, waiting for someone to retrieve Creedmoore for her. He didn't have a fireplace in his office, so she'd shouted at some passing worker to find him immediately. The worker appeared to be a new intern, and she felt a flash of pride to realize she was bossing him around. Soon, she might even be bossing _Creedmoore_ around. Surely if she completed this job, she would be ranked higher than the raving old bat.

"Well, well, well," Creedmoore's voice drawled, and she was surprised to see he'd entered the room without her noticing. He moved until he was standing directly beside the fire; he was so high up it was painful to crane her neck at such an angle. Placing an arm on what had to be the mantel above, he peered down at her with a sneer. "Look who decided to contact me."

_Oh, please, you're reminding me of Draco_, she scoffed, wanting to roll her eyes. Unfortunately, they were already as far into her eyelids as they could go, and no rolling was possible. "I'm sorry that I haven't contacted you earlier, sir, it's just that −"

"Weasley," he cut in solemnly, obviously not listening to her. "Let me tell you a story. That is, unless, you're far too _busy_ to take a few minutes out of your schedule to update your _boss_ on your _job_. . . ."

Ginny gritted her teeth. She'd nearly forgotten how she hated the man. "Sir, I apologize, but −"

"This is a story about a little girl who wanted to grow up," he went on, regardless. He began to pace nonchalantly in front of the fire. "She wanted to go on her _first real job_. For months, she felt stifled and suffocated, much like an artist who wasn't living up to her full potential. Then one day, poof! Out of nowhere, the Ministry demands her for the most important job of the century. Capture a wanted criminal that had somehow evaded highly trained Aurors time after time after time."

"_Sir_ −"

"And the little girl is very excited, because her dream has finally come true. So she goes on this mission, against her parents' wishes, against her boss's wishes, and against the wishes of everyone who knows her."

"Sir, what have my parents got to do with −?"

"And then do you know what this little girl did?" Creedmoore said, now facing her and looking as if he was telling an eager child his ridiculous tale. "She didn't _grow up_. She went on her big-girl job and she remained an _infant._"

Oh, good Christ. "Sir," she said loudly and clearly, "I must inform you that there are several flaws in your little fairy tale. Firstly, this isn't the most important job of the century, because the century is barely three years old and therefore, there will be ample time for more important jobs to arise." She somewhat brightened at his reddening face. "Secondly, the little girl did not go against her parents wishes, they were very happy for her and just as eager as she was to see she was going somewhere in the world. And thirdly, the little girl was _never_ little to begin with. A young woman, maybe. But certainly no infant."

"God_damn_ you, Weasley!" he shouted. "It's been a _week_! One week! And no word from you!"

"It's been six days, actually," she corrected pointedly.

"Did you not get my owls? Did your letters get lost on the way here? Because I sincerely hope that is the case, Weasley," he bellowed.

"What if it isn't?" she asked sweetly.

"Then I'm reporting to the Ministry that you're ruining this job and need to be removed immediately!"

Ginny felt slightly uncomfortable at that. He'd do it, too. She wouldn't put it past him. It would be wise to stay on his good side. To do that, she'd have to move along to another topic and get his mind off how long it'd been since their last contact.

"Look, sir, I've found Malfoy already," she said hurriedly, launching into her own tale. She filled him in on what she'd been doing the past week, and eventually his face relaxed into his expression of concentration.

"Have you slept with him yet?" he asked gruffly as soon as she was finished.

"Have I . . . wha? . . . no," she said, reddening.

"Well, then you better get to it," he commanded. "Flirting and walking and swimming sounds like a grand time, but do you know what it means? Friendship. That's not what you need. You need him eating out of your bloody palm, Weasley. Do whatever you women do to make him so infatuated that he won't be able to breathe when you're not around."

Ginny laughed darkly. "This is _Draco Malfoy_ we're talking about, sir," she reminded him.

"He's a man, isn't he? Just do it, and don't make excuses," he very nearly snarled.

"I'm _not_ making excuses," she insisted hotly. "It's just that you don't know Malfoy. He's a different breed. He doesn't fall in love, and even if he did – which is _highly_ unlikely – he isn't the type to be obsessive about it. He'd probably deny it until the day he died, or be so frightened by it that he'd just get up and leave −"

"It's your job to make sure that doesn't happen, Weasley. If you can't handle it, I'm sure there are several other interns who are very interested in taking your place."

"I can handle it," she muttered. "I made more progress in a week than any other woman would make in a month."

Creedmoore let a brief smile blink across his features. "Six days, Weasley," he corrected snidely. "Not a week."

"Look, sir," she said flatly, trying for patience. "All I'm saying is that everything would be so much easier if I could just Stun him and ship him back to England in a trunk."

"The right way isn't always the easiest, Weasley," he preached.

Ginny suddenly remembered what Penelope had pointed out the other night. Why _did_ they need Draco back in England? Why couldn't they simply arrest him in Spain – or Greece, as it was now – and take him back under custody? Now that she wasn't half dumb from drinking too many sherries, that option seemed much more reasonable.

However, when she voiced her question, Creedmoore looked supremely annoyed. "Weasley, you are two seconds from being taken off this assignment," he warned dangerously.

"From _asking questions_?" she demanded incredulously.

"From being bloody ignorant!" he retorted. "Before you voice your _opinions_, research them first. I've already told you that if he was arrested in another country, they would take claims on him. We need to arrest him _here_. Is that penetrating your thick skull?"

Ginny would surely explode if she remained here much longer. Not only were her knees aching from resting on the stone from so long and her feet falling asleep from lack of blood circulation, but her head was beginning to throb violently and her brain was spilling with angry speeches brilliantly accentuated with colorful swears that were begging to burst forth. She needed to retreat to her room, and fast.

"Well, sir," she said tightly. "I think I should be going. I have a Veritaserum to make before dinnertime."

"Just _seduce_ the bastard, all right?" he said sharply. "And you can't honestly tell me he's not the seducing type. If he is truly a man, then he can be seduced."

"Goodbye, sir," she said rapidly.

"Wait, one last thing," he added. "Your parents – well, your family, I should say – _are_ upset with this entire mission."

"What?" Ginny's curiosity had been snagged.

"One of your brothers came to see me the other day," he said. "The one who works for the Ministry. Jon, Dan . . . some three lettered name −"

"Ron?"

"Yeah, that one. The Auror. He heard that you were after Draco Malfoy, and he stormed into my office, furious. You failed to mention that you and Malfoy were enemies." He glared at her like she'd sinned for not telling him.

"We didn't get along," she said stiffly. "But I wouldn't say we were . . . _enemies_." Blatant lie, anyone?

"You would think the man had killed your mother, from the way Ron raved about him," Creedmoore grunted. "The point of the visit was basically that your family was upset by the news, and someone would be going to retrieve you the very next morning."

Ginny's mouth dropped open. "_What_?"

"Don't worry, I talked him out of it," he assured her, as if she should be proud of him. "I told him that if he or any other family member interfered with this mission, everyone in the family who had a Ministry job would find him or herself unemployed."

"You threatened my family?" Ginny wasn't sure which made her angrier; her family's over-protectiveness or Creedmoore's insensitivity.

"Hey, if you _want_ to be retrieved by Daddy dearest, then like I said, I can have someone replace you in a heartbeat −"

"All right, look, forget it," she growled. "Just . . . keep them away, but never, ever threaten them again. Understood?"

"I highly doubt you are in such a position to order me around, Ms. Weasley," he said with a cold smirk.

Ginny couldn't even reply. She jerked her head out of the fire and sat back, stretching her numb legs, and mulled crossly over everything that had just happened. And this day had been going so _well_, too. . . .

Why was it all so complicated? Why couldn't she have picked a _normal_ career? A Hogwarts professor would never have to seduce Draco Malfoy. Training to be a medi-witch wouldn't have included the experience of capturing a wanted criminal.

As she sat there, she was feeling so low she seriously considered giving it all up. Just packing her stuff and returning to England. Resigning from the position of a Hit Witch intern. Heading to Hogwarts to take a teaching job. They already had a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher for this year, but . . . there was always an opening for next year.

"Oh, Ginny, don't be a coward," she mumbled, collapsing backwards to stare at the ceiling. It was painted with fat, half-naked cherubs that flew around in the blue sky, and oddly enough they amused her enough to tug her lips into the start of a smile.

_I can do this_, she decided determinedly. _I've got this far, haven't I?_

It would only be a little bit farther. A month more, maximum. Maybe less, if things kept progressing as fast as they were.

Thusly re-energized, she pulled herself to her feet and left the room, relieving the maids she'd left to guard the doors. She went to find Tannar and ask him if she could access his Potion cupboard.

She found him in one of the many sittings rooms, half on top of some brunette maid, who had to have been a quarter of his age. He quickly whipped his hand out from underneath her skirt when Ginny stalked in, and the maid stopped mid-giggle.

"Yes, Ms. Weasley?" Tannar said awkwardly, his face red.

Ginny very nearly clucked her tongue, finding no need to feel embarrassed herself; they were the ones fooling around in the open. "I was just wondering where you kept your Potions materials," she told him. "There's no need for you to get up; just tell me where they would be. I need to make a Truth Potion."

"Well, er, they're in the cellar," he said, flustered. "Are you sure – er – I can have someone get the ingredients for you, if . . ."

"No, I'll get them myself," she replied. She turned to leave, thought of something else, and turned back. "Mr. Tannar, if I might ask, what precautions have you taken with the blueprints?"

Tannar swallowed, looked at his companion, and spoke to her in Greek. The maid nodded and hurried out of the room, leaving him alone with Ginny.

"Er, have a seat?" Tannar said, gesturing to the chair in front of him.

"No, thanks, I'll stand."

"Well," he said, unable to meet her eyes. "The prints are very well guarded; the top security men in the country are at work −"

"But that's the problem," Ginny cut in. "Parkinson, Zabini, and Dr . . . Malfoy will be expecting that. You need to add something that they _won't_ be expecting."

"There's no way they can find out every spell I've cast upon the blueprints," Tannar said, his voice gathering in strength. "It'd take weeks of research to figure out how to do so."

But Ginny still wasn't put at rest. "Here's the thing, Mr. Tannar," she said, her arms crossed in front of her chest. "I don't want these three actually _caught_. I want them scared away, not taken. I want them to think they've escaped when we've really let them go −"

"You ask for a lot, Ms. Weasley," Tannar said faintly.

"But that's what must be done," Ginny insisted, surprising even herself at how firm and in-charge she sounded. "Mr. Tannar, we can't have them arrested on Greek land. I don't even care about Pansy or Blaise right now. My job is Draco Malfoy, and I can't have him captured here for attempting to steal the blueprints.

"So, what I propose you do," she went on, straightening her spine and preparing to make a grand exit, "is bar the way to the blueprints. And then after you do that, I want you to add some sort of alarm to the actual blueprints that alert you if they have been moved, _just in case_ Pansy, Blaise, and Draco make it past your defenses. And if you are alerted they have done so, I want you to let them know you are coming and, without actually showing yourselves, let them leave unharmed." At his doubtful expression, she added, "You will, naturally, be rewarded by the Ministry for any inconveniences this presents."

Ginny felt a slight thrill as Tannar nodded meekly, agreeing. Oh, to have control over someone! The feeling was great. She could almost understand now why Creedmoore was the way he was. It was elating to tell someone what to do and have them do it. She couldn't wait to become a Hit Witch.

Her excitement tripling, she headed for the potions ingredients she needed.

The entire cellar turned out to be ingredient storage; there were several rooms, all with different temperatures for the materials that needed special care. In her bare feet and damp hair, she nearly froze in the room where an ingredient that needed to be kept below freezing was held, and was sweating within seconds in another area where certain types of roots were jarred.

In the corner of the room that was room-temperature, she found a cauldron – a rather expensive one, at that. She dumped all her supplies – including the book that contained the Truth Potion – in it, lifted it up, and left the cellar to begin her potion.

It took a good hour to get started; chopping up the ingredients and sorting them into the right proportions was normally the most tedious part of Potion making. By the time she'd completed it, she was already tired and hungry and ready to do something else.

It was time for lunch, anyway.

As Ginny approached the dining room, she began to feel butterflies in her stomach. She'd seen Draco only a couple of hours ago, but the thought of seeing him again made her all fluttery.

_Seduce him_, she thought apprehensively. _Sure, Creedmoore, no problem._

Ginny wasn't a novice when it came to the dating field. She'd actually seduced before, a couple times, with men who played hard-to-get. But none of the relationships had lasted very long. In fact, the longest she'd ever dated somebody had been five months. And that had been her first boyfriend.

She'd often wondered if she had a problem with commitment. But when she analyzed the idea, she'd concluded it didn't make much logical sense. She came from a loving family and had no qualms with loving other people. She desperately wanted relationships with friends and boyfriends alike. She desperately wanted massive amounts of kids. It was just that she hadn't found the right guy yet. That had to be the only explanation.

But now, she'd have to force herself to stick around with the totally wrong man. What's worse was that she'd have to make him fall in love with her.

She knew she'd have to stop fretting about it all and just do it. _Get over it, Weasley_, she thought harshly. _You're a highly likable person. And even if Malfoy doesn't like you, then you can figure out what type of women he _does_ like, and be that woman._

_After all, you're getting to be a pretty fantastic actress. _

When she turned into the dining room, she found it deserted. She felt her spirits sink a bit. She'd got herself so pumped up and eager to start this entire seduction madness that it was disappointing not to find Draco.

No sooner had she stepped into the room did the door on the opposite wall open, and in came a maid with a tray of food. Ginny reluctantly sat down and began to eat alone, her thoughts making their way to everyone she'd left back in England and wondering what they were up to.

_I'll write everyone I know a letter tomorrow_, she told herself.

As she polished off the last of her meal, Draco, Pansy, and Blaise made their appearance. Pansy and Blaise both wore an expression of contained glee, while Draco appeared neutral. However, when Pansy caught sight of Ginny, her eyes darkened and her mouth drooped.

"Hi," Ginny told them brightly. "I was hoping you'd show up."

Draco sat down across from her and grinned. "Hello again, Weasley."

"We can't say long," Pansy declared dully, dropping heavily beside Draco. "We have work to do." She narrowed her eyes at him.

"I'm sure you do," Ginny replied. _Such as trying to steal the blueprints_, she thought, barely containing her smugness from knowing they couldn't achieve the task. "But I hope you'll be done by this evening, Draco? I was thinking we could have dinner outside together. . . ."

"We're working," Blaise cut in simply, already with a mouthful.

Ginny pressed her lips together, stung, but not defeated. Draco avoided her eyes. "Well, everyone has to eat," she said, a bit lamely.

"We'll be taking our dinner upstairs together," Pansy said, her nose wrinkled to make her resemblance to a pug prominent. "Sorry, Weasley."

Ginny stared directly at Pansy, who stared unblinkingly back. There was a moment where they fought without words and Ginny suddenly realized Pansy and Blaise would be more of an obstacle than she'd originally assumed.

_Wonderful. Blueprints, seduction, and angry exes. This just keeps getting better and better._

"Tomorrow we can have breakfast outside," Draco said simply. He spoke without much feeling, almost as if the notion bored him, but Ginny immediately perked up. "Tonight I have some things to take care of."

Ginny instantly deduced that meant they were going to try and take the blueprints that very night. She hid a smile, relieved she didn't have to worry about whether they would get the prints or not − her priority now was to figure out what Draco wanted with the prints to begin with.__

"We're leaving tomorrow morning," Pansy snapped. It seemed that all civility she'd had towards Ginny was now gone. Something had obviously happened.

_Probably jealous_, Ginny thought. Primly, she fluffed her now-dry hair, disregarding the fact it was stiff with salt from her swim.

"Tomorrow?" Draco lifted an eyebrow, revealing his mild surprise.

"Yes," Pansy said, poking at her food. "Early. We probably won't see you again, Weasley."

"Oh, I wouldn't be too sure of that," Ginny said breezily, catching Draco's gaze and giving him a small, mysterious smile. He looked back at her with a vaguely quizzical expression.

There was a lull in conversation, and before five minutes had passed Pansy was standing up, so abruptly that her chair tilted back and nearly fell. "All right, boys, let's back to work," she instructed and stalked towards the door.

Blaise shoved one last bite into his mouth, took a sip of milk, and hurried after her. Draco, however, lagged behind, taking his time as he wiped his mouth and set the napkin on the table.

"Come on, Draco," Pansy said impatiently.

"I'll be there in a minute," he replied, his irritation with her barely noticeable under his controlled tone. Ginny shot Pansy a gloating grin that the two men didn't catch, and the other woman scowled back before heading out of the room.

"So what's all this _work_ you have to do?" Ginny asked, leaning back in her chair and studying him.

He snorted. "There's no work. Pansy just doesn't want me around you."

_Liar. _

Ginny raised her eyebrows momentarily and gave a knowing grin. "Jealous of me, is she?"

"I wouldn't say that," Draco said dryly, getting to his feet. "She just doesn't like you. Can't see why."

Ginny caught his sarcasm and felt a little hurt, but played it off. "Well, if she thinks she scares me, she's wrong," she announced.

"I'd be careful," he said over his shoulder as walked out. He paused in the middle of the doorway. "Pansy's bite is definitely worse than her bark."

"Terrifying," Ginny shot back.

He smirked. "I'll see you, Weasley."

Ginny left soon after, keen on finding Tannar. When she found him this time, he was fortunately not with a lady friend, but having some sort of a discussion with two other men in one of the rooms downstairs. The men left on Tannar's command, and Ginny was able to report to Tannar what Pansy, Blaise, and Draco were going to do that night.

"I don't know when," she explained, "but sometime tonight. So do everything I told you to before sundown."

Tannar looked a little sick. "Ms. Weasley, that's nearly impossible −"

"_Nearly_. That means it _is_ possible. So I want it done, Mr. Tannar."

She had to hold back a gleeful grin. He looked apprehensive, but she knew he'd do it. If the top men in security were working to protect the blueprints, it wouldn't be too hard to add to the defense. It was achievable. The three Slytherins – though cunning when it came to achieving their desires – couldn't penetrate dozens of trained men and dozens more complicated spells.

And if they _did_, then so what? Ginny didn't think that the blueprints being in their possession would be an immediate threat.

Ginny thought it over a bit, and couldn't come to a solid conclusion on why Blaise, Pansy, and Draco needed the blueprints. Maybe if they wanted to _enter_ Azkaban prison and know their way around . . . but that wasn't too firm a notion. The last place Draco wanted to visit was Azkaban.

If they were planning on helping a prisoner escape or something along those lines – then _that_ was impossible. Ginny had studied the defense of Azkaban prison before she'd become a Hit Witch intern. The blueprint's security was like swimming through water compared to Azkaban's, which was like running smack into an iron door.

_But who knows_, Ginny thought as she returned to her room and Veritaserum potion. _I have to keep my mind open to all possibilities. _

However, the Veritaserum would surely provide a shortcut to the truth.

* * *

By ten that night, Blaise, Pansy, and Draco were prepared to make their move. After sitting around all day, planning, creating scenarios where different things could go wrong, and practicing the spells they would need, they were ready.

Or felt ready.

That morning, Blaise had found the room where the blueprints were contained. It was in the cellar, adjacent to a room that was slicked over with ice. Draco realized later, upon inspection, that rare Potions ingredients were being contained on the shelves, and they needed to be kept at a below freezing temperature.

Having used an Invisibility Cloak found in Draco's cavernous room, as well as wearing a Concealment Charm for double protection, Blaise had been able to sit by the entrance and figure out how the guards' routine went.

There were only four of them. One stood just inside the door, but Blaise couldn't decipher where the other three were posted. "I couldn't see into the room," he said, ignoring Pansy's death glare. "All I caught was the doorway."

"Great. For all we know, there are three more doors we have to go through," Pansy cried, exasperated.

"Well, we know all the spells there are for getting through locked doors," Blaise retorted. "So we'll figure it all out."

"But what about the guards?" Draco asked. He felt that people were the only real obstacles.

"One guard switches with a new, fresh guard every two hours," Blaise explained. "For example, when the Doorway Guard's two hours are up, another one comes on duty. The Doorway Guard doesn't leave until the other has come to relieve him. And even if he did, the other three would still be somewhere in the room."

"Basically, there are four guards at all times," Pansy stated.

"Basically."

_Well, that's better than the six we originally expected,_ Draco thought. He wondered why the fact there were suddenly less guards bothered him. "How do we get past them?" he asked.

"We don't," Blaise answered simply. "There's no way we can. They can see through Invisibility Cloaks −"

"Then how did you −?"

"I hid in the back corner, in the shadow of the shelves," he explained briefly.

"_Blaise_. How do we get in?" Pansy pressed, growing more intolerant with each second.

"Well," Blaise said, stretching his legs out in front of him on the bed and grinning slowly. "We take the guards' places."

"Er," Draco replied intelligently. "Just . . . _how_ do we do that?"

Blaise shook his head as if hurt. "You two have no confidence in me. I've done my research. I know just how to do it."

"Care to _enlighten_ us, dear?" Pansy said through clenched teeth.

Blaise sighed as if he _didn't_ care to. "I followed one of the guards when he got off duty," he told them. "He lives in a small hut on the edge of the property. And there isn't just one. There's a whole row of the little houses, concealed by a line of trees. All the guards live in that tiny little . . . well, village, I suppose you could call it.

"What we do," he went on, his voice strengthening with pride, "is we wait in the back entrance of the villa, where the new guards come in to change places with the current guards. One will come every two hours. We each Stun one, bewitch their clothing to fit us, change our features so we roughly resemble them, and head for the Blueprint room. Since it's dark down there, as well as in the room, so no one should notice we're not the real guards. If anyone talks to us, we'll just pretend like we're pricks and ignore them.

"Once we're all in the Blueprint room that leaves only one guard. We Stun him and copy the blueprints. Then we erase all the guards' memories so they don't even realize they were out at all. We come back to our rooms, go to sleep, and return to Madrid in the morning."

Draco released a breath slowly. "It won't be that easy, Blaise."

"Quit being so negative," Pansy said stridently. "It's not easy to begin with. It _won't_ be easy, but Draco, we can do it."

"I'm not saying we can't," he answered effortlessly. "We'll just run into problems we won't expect and it will complicate things."

"Draco, I had no idea you were a Seer," Blaise said soberly.

"So if your plan works out correctly," Draco went on, "that means it will be six hours before we're all even in the Blueprint Room. That's too much time. The guards could wake up, Tannar could wake up, Weasley could wake up . . ."

He instantly knew he shouldn't have brought her up. Pansy's face darkened and she muttered, "Then get _rid_ of her."

"It will take six hours to get in," Blaise agreed, kindly pretending like he had no idea what they were going on about, "but it shouldn't take us more than a half hour to copy the blueprints, change the guards' memories, and get out of there."

The remainder of the day was spent tweaking their Stunning Spells and Memory Charms to perfection. Draco could not get rid of the unsettling feeling in his stomach; he didn't call it fear, he called it anxiousness. He kept thinking that they shouldn't be doing this, that in the end, it would do more harm than good.

_Shut up, Draco_, he told himself savagely. _You're being incredibly stupid. This is going to go just as smoothly as planned and then we'll be one step closer to Azkaban . . . and ironically, one step closer to freedom._

He had no idea.

* * *

A/N: So now Ginny's trying to seduce Draco in earnest. In return, _he's_ trying to make her fall madly in love with him. So we've got some madwildcrazy seducing going on. Whatever do you think will happen? Pchk, certainly not _love_. And never fret, just because they're trying to seduce each other does not mean they'll get along. How fun would _that_ be?

Next chapter: They break into the blueprint room and Narcissa comes back into play, along with another evil friend whom I'm sure we all know and love. Draco and Ginny grow closer, Pansy and Blaise grow more edgy, and Penelope and Maili make another appearance. Lots of D/G to go around as well as some evil darkness that I can't seem to keep out of my plots. Whee, yes?

Thank you toooo:

**LiTtLe-bLaCk-sTaR** (Ginny is lucky, isn't she? Hmm, instead of great, try, perhaps…stupendous, amazing, breath-taking, stunning, beautiful, heart-felt, or even god-like. Any of those will do. Haha. Thanks!), **Static** (well thank you very much. Glad it kept you entertained!), **dragongirlG** (ahh, thanks. D/G love scenes are always best when they're wonderfully fluffy with romance-novelesque features.), **Courtney Kathrys** (thank you! Your review was quick, to the point, and completely made my day), **Jade Summers** (Draco's quite tricky, isn't he?), **Mo the Deatheater** (oh, Ginny's not that dumb. Eventually she'll think things through. Goodness, people can't get over the fact that I made Draco short. He's no midget. But he's not six-feet-two, either. At least, according to the books. I followed cannon in that respect), **myStiCaLYia** (no, she just talked him into helping the Ministry. Since Tannar's own brother works for the Ministry, he was pretty much obligated and/or forced to be under Ginny's orders. Hope this chapter explained it better), **Sportz****-Crazy** (thanks!), **ToOtHpIcK** (thank you! I know what you mean, sometimes I get bored with parts in stories and just scan. Glad you can actually stand to read this one!), **dracomio** (innit though?), **Dracoluver2009** (eh, I tried. Two weeks passed considerably. Haha, sorry!), **FalvaOftheweek** (Thank you! Yes, wet and snogging are good combinations), **lmnop****, seekpeeker, Nobodysbitch** (haha, Blaise. _My_ bitch. strokes Blaise lovingly), **shelly2** (thank you!), **Mooshi** (twice! Why, you ought to memorize it! Hehe), **Siriusly**** Crazed** (good, cause if you didn't stop with the name changes, I'd be utterly confused, and we don't want that, do we? Mwaha, thanks!), **Cat**, **TrinMalfoy** (hey, you're right! I did make rooms magical and be able to sense personalities. I was going to say something about it, but then…I didn't. Good for you. Nope, I'm not quite Greek – Irish with the glorious white skin that comes with it – so yes, I did research the foods. Yes, Tannar knows about the three criminals, which becomes clear in this chapter. And Ginny also contacted the British Ministry, soo…hope that answered your questions. You'll just have to wait and see what Draco's intentions in the end will be, darling. Just keep reading. Whoosh, great review! Thank you so much for taking the time!), **AnonymousHGDV** (I'm ever so sorry. Don't you just wish you had your own Draco. Hehehe…), **Madison27** (indeed!), **hinagiku****, lhuntathraeil, Kawaii** (yes, bring it on! Thank you!), **audig** (like whoa, huh? I agree…bwaha thanks), **Kazte** (thanks! I'm thrilled you like my stories. I don't get on LJ that much anymore, so don't be expecting much from me there. But thanks anyway!), **Erao** (Penelope and Maili have yet to make their exit of this story! They shall remain for a bit longer. Haha, thanks! D/G action shall be coming by the boatloads…eventually), **Brooke Kenobi** (boo on papers. Just do it during lunch or something. Haha. Thanks!), **MoonDevil99** (that's really true, everyone has their own writing style. It's like saying…I wish I could talk like you…cricket cricket…okay, okay, I admit. Bad analogy. But it gets the point across. Haha, anyway, thanks nonetheless!), **Ili** (Greece does sound lovely. I made myself jealous while writing it. Of course we'll get to see what Draco's feeling. All in good time), **Midnight Auror** (Wow, girl. Your review was definitely in my Top 10 Reviews of All Time. I love reading, I love writing…but I've always been incredibly fond of movies because you can see what's happening, you can hear the exact tone, you can sense what's going on. Sometimes when I get excited reading books, I scan the little details in paragraphs that prolongs the suspense. That never happens in movies, cause obviously, I can't "scan ahead". Okay, what I'm trying to tell you is that by saying to me that my story is like a movie is probably the best compliment you could've given me. Just thank you very much), **crazyfire89** (thank you! Different things effect different people, and I'm glad that my story makes you feel so much. As long as I can do that with just one person, my life as an author is satisfactory. Thank you very much), **hpRoCks0204**, **hpfreakout** (thanks for all the reviews! It makes me happy that you enjoy it so much!), **Cecile Li** (well, have a little mercy. I do have a life, you know), **edward.marie**(isn't the suspense _killing_ you? Ahh, whatever will happen? Haha, thanks!), **Greenstuff** (ah, never fret, you'll see Draco's perspective on plenty of action soon enough), **Spinn** (blah, I know, I'm a horrible person. I didn't met my deadline. Poo. Thanks, though!), **Mharie**** – Kaida** (thank you!).


	11. First Failure

A/N: I'm sorry this chapter took nearly two months to come out. But some unforeseen things happened . . . like my beta helped me realize the chapter was completely boring and needed some revision. Also, I went to England for a week, and then my grandmother passed away, and then I had to work my life away. What can I say? Shit happens.

Next chapter expect in a month or so. It's already written, but as you should know by now, that means nothing in terms of speediness with me. I'm going to New York for a week, then a few days later bandcamp, and then . . . YAY!!!! . . . school. By yay I mean "Shoot me in the head I don't want to live". I'm so bummed my summer's already, like, gone.

I also apologize for all the "he knew that _she_ knew that _he_ knew that _she_ knew" talk, but unfortunately this is that type of story.

This chapter is full of action, and yes, I admit, it drags on in places. But it's necessary sooo…stfu already!…haha, couldn't resist. Do tell me you've seen the end of the world skit? If you _haven't_, go here before you read this: http: www. ebaumsworld. com/endofworld.html (remember, take the spaces out; I only add them because ff.net's messed up and won't show the link if it's all together). It's one of the greatest things on the Internet today.

Second to last note - thanks to Jho (VioletJersey) for beta'ing!

Last note - this chapter is dedicated to Ramona S for her kind email regarding my grandmother.

All right, now embark on the long chapter that took several years to complete!

**Chapter Eleven**

**_The First Failure_**

At ten thirty, Blaise, Pansy, and Draco dressed in black and assembled just inside the back entrance, hidden in the corner. Blaise informed them they would be waiting for a good half hour; the next guard change wasn't until eleven.

Draco could only summon one emotion. Annoyance.

He'd thought it would be exciting to do something dangerous like this. Or at the very least, a bit frightening. After all, the risk of being caught was high. Anything could go wrong. And if something did, then he would be in Azkaban himself, dreaming of the days when he had the freedom to plot a way _in_ to the prison.

But honestly, the entire ordeal was _aggravating._ Waiting in the dark, with nothing to do, nothing to concentrate on but how badly he wanted to be in bed, sleeping. He found himself hoping for something to misfire; at least then there would be exhilaration.

Eventually, the thirty minutes passed, and precisely at eleven, the first guard walked in. He made no attempt to enter stealthily; he yanked open the door and clopped in. Draco couldn't see him very clearly, but he could tell by his shadowy appearance that the man was roughly the size of a castle. __

"_Stupefy!_" Blaise called out in a hushed voice.

The man fell like a ton of bricks. Draco winced and hoped no one in the house felt the vibrations.

"Okay," Blaise said quietly, hovering over his guard. "It looks like their clothing is a simple black cloak. No, wait." He leaned closer and squinted. "Dark blue cloaks. With no hood."

As Pansy was the expert with clothes, she effortlessly transformed all three of their ensembles to an exact replica of the guard's. Then she carefully stepped around the unconscious man to stand beside Blaise.

"_Lumos_," she muttered, and got on her knees to inspect the guard's face. After a minute of studying him, she straightened, turned to Blaise, and held his chin with her free hand. "All right, we need to make your nose a big wider, your lips thicker, your cheeks fatter, and your eyes lighter. Draco, come hold a light for me."

Draco joined them and lit his own wand, holding it steady for Pansy as she transformed Blaise's face. In a matter of minutes he didn't resemble himself in the slightest. An ugly man with oddly proportioned features blinked back at them.

"Now you need a bit more weight," Pansy mused, tapping her wand to her chin and thinking. "I suppose I could just inflate you. . . ."

"Of course," Blaise said, and it was weird hearing his voice coming from a stranger. "I get Fatty."

"This was your idea," Draco pointed out, unable to contain a happy grin after glancing down at the huge man on the floor.

"Polyjuice Potion would be so much easier," Blaise mumbled.

"Don't be such an idiot, Blaise," Pansy snapped, measuring how many wandlengths wide the guard was. "You know we didn't have enough time to make a Polyjuice Potion, and even if we did, it wears off in an hour. We'd need it for six at the very least."

Blaise merely gritted his teeth.

Ten minutes later, he was not only hideous, he was fat. But Draco had to admit, he did look like the guard on the ground. Especially in the bad light, he could easily pass for him.

"All right, get going," Pansy said, nudging his girth towards the stairs. "We'll see you in two hours."

"Be careful, Chunky!" Draco warned in a loud whisper. Blaise made a move as if to turn and attack him, and Draco dashed behind Pansy for protection.

Once Blaise had clunked up the stairs and his heavy footfalls had disappeared, Pansy and Draco were alone to wait for another hour and a half. They both sat against the wall in completely silence, neither speaking for a while. Draco tilted his head back and closed his eyes, dozing lightly for a good hour or so. It was Pansy's sulky voice that gave him a slight jolt back into consciousness.

"I'm going next," she announced suddenly.

Draco licked his dry lips and blinked several times. "No, you aren't," he argued quietly, wiping a hand over his chin. "The plan was for me to go next. You're the best with appearance altering spells −"

"Forget the plan, I'm going next," Pansy interrupted calmly. "I'm sick of waiting."

"Pansy, you need to learn patience, love," Draco lectured with a tight smile. "Waiting will be good for you. I'm going next."

"Do you want to bet?" She turned her head and met his gaze; in the dark it was hard to read her expression, but he could easily tell she was determined. If she didn't get her way, he knew, there would be hell.

"Look," Draco said, annoyance stirring once again, "if I go last, then that means I'll have to change my own appearance. I'm not nearly as gifted as you are. I'm decent when I do it to other people; I'm dangerous when I do it to myself. Without a mirror, I could end up rearranging my nose for my right eye, or placing my teeth where my ears should be, or . . ."

"Well, maybe you should have practiced a little more then, shouldn't you have?" Pansy asked sweetly.

Draco laughed hollowly, dropping his head back against the wall. "This discussion has ended. I'm going next."

"All right, I'll make you a deal," Pansy said, and he couldn't help but turn to her, interested by her sly voice. He could see her smile. "If I let you go first, you get rid of Weasley."

Draco didn't even dignify it with a response. He turned his face and stared straight ahead.

"Otherwise," she said, "I get to go first. It's your choice. Leave first, or keep Weasley."

"Pansy, _please _shut up. I'm not 'keeping' anything. I've just gotten Weasley right where I want her, and I'm not substituting her for some other Ministry official." He briefly grinned. "It'll cramp my style."

He heard her make a noise that was similar to a snarl. "Draco, _I_ am going first; I'm not waiting around here for another two hours . . . ."

Of course, Pansy continued to argue viciously. But it was useless. In the end, Draco won. Pansy was stubborn and hard-headed, but there was one person in the world who could actually sway her.

Draco loved being so powerful.

Thirty minutes later, Draco entered the cellar. He no longer resembled himself. His fine blonde hair was dark and thick. His pale complexion was tanned and scarred. His gray eyes were blue and small.

But his mind was the same as ever; alert, wary, and vaguely irritated with Pansy and her pointless whining.

A guard stood before the closed door. Draco squinted in the dark and tried to see if it was Blaise; he quickly concluded it wasn't. This guard was thinner. He glanced at Draco briefly, nodded stiffly, and stepped aside to open the door. He spoke gruffly in Greek, and appeared a bit put off when Draco gave a very forced smile.

Pretty much ignoring the guard, Draco stepped into the room. The door closed gently behind him.

Inside, the only lighting consisted of flickering candles floating above. It took a couple of minutes to adjust to the weak light, but soon enough Draco could see without straining his eyes.

The room was square and small with boring white walls. The only piece of furniture stood in the middle of the stone floor; a wooden table with glass case placed upon it. Through the glass, Draco glimpsed parchment – of course, it was a blueprint.

One guard stood in front of the case, and another in the corner. The one in the corner had to be Blaise; he was wide enough to be.

Unsure of where to stand, Draco took his place in the corner opposite Blaise. The true guard didn't say anything contrary, so he assumed that it was the correct post.

Now, he had to wait two more hours for Pansy.

It was the final hours that were the worst. They trickled by slowly. Draco grew tired of standing, and he could see Blaise fidgeting out of the corner of his eye. The real guard stood rod-straight, never jerking, never unclasping his hands from behind his back, never sneezing. It was amazing.

Finally, just when Draco thought he would go mad from boredom, the door creaked open. The door guard put his head in. He said something in Greek, but only the other guard replied. Draco hoped it wasn't unusual for his character to be silent.

The door closed again, and then there were another couple of minutes waiting. Eventually, the door opened once more and in stepped a new guard. Pansy. If Draco hadn't seen the quick flash of a gold necklace at her throat, he never would've recognized her. She was tall, broad, and manly. She'd done an incredible job on herself with the appearance altering spells − _Aren't you glad you listened to me, Pansy?_ he thought smugly.

When she spoke, it was her own low, sultry voice. "It's time, boys," she said, pulling out her wand and standing firmly in front of the door.

Draco glanced at Blaise, who nodded. The two of them whipped out their own wands just as the guard slowly unclasped his hands. He mumbled something in Greek – the statement raised at the end, making it sound like a question – and turned, slightly unsure, to Blaise and Draco.

"Sorry, mate," Blaise said, lifting his hand. "Can't have you see this. _Stupefy._"

Two things suddenly happened at once. Sparks emitted from Blaise's wandtip, spewing everywhere like a dazzling display of fireworks, momentarily blinding Draco. Then the Greek guard shouted something; Draco caught movement as he dove for the door. Pansy easily blocked him and shoved him away, strengthened by her new bulk. The guard stumbled back a couple of steps and paused, anger slowly replacing his bewilderment.

"What the hell?" Blaise demanded. "What happened?"

"Quick, Blaise!" Pansy said, her eyes cautiously on the guard, waiting for his next move. "Do it again!"

_"Stupefy!_" His voice sounded a bit frantic.

Once again sparks lit up the room, revealing the guard's hardened face. He was certainly angry now, yet he didn't reach for his wand. He made another attempt to go through the door, but Pansy was standing in his way. The two struggled for a moment before Draco rushed to help. They forced him around so they faced into the room, the guard between them. The man was unbelievably strong; even with Draco and Pansy's combined power, they could barely contain him.

"Blaise, what's going on!" Pansy asked furiously as she and Draco held the erratic guard between them. "Why isn't he stunned?"

The man was going on about something in Greek, his complexion reddening in his exertion. Draco looked away from him to Blaise, who had an expression of dawning on his stolen face.

"Oh no," he said, lowering his wand. He looked ill. "It's protected."

"_What?_" Pansy and Draco cried in unison.

"This room. It's protected against magic. Goddamnit, I should've known!"

"Yes, you should have!" Pansy screamed. "Blaise, you stupid arse! Get over here and _do something with him!_"

Blaise obliged. In two strides he had reached them; in one swift movement he laid two beefy hands on the front of the guard's robes and yanked him forward. The guard was torn from Draco's grip and staggered, nearly falling off-balance. Blaise held him up steady.

"I'll have to do it the non-magic way," Blaise muttered, and lifted one arm.

The guard had both his hands on the one Blaise was using to hold the front of his robes; he shouted something furiously and tried, almost frantically, to release Blaise's grasp. His attempts were all in vain; Blaise brought his fingers to the guard's neck, finding the exact point that had him crumpling, unconscious, to the floor.

There was a moment of heavy breathing as the three tried to catch their breaths. Draco found himself thinking of the consequences if the guard had gotten away. They'd been incredibly lucky . . . if that guard had escaped, all three of them would be on the run now. Or worse, on their way to Azkaban.

Clearly Pansy was thinking of the same thing. "I'll kill you, Blaise," she threatened, her voice a throaty growl. "How could you . . . damn it, it was your job to figure out what we had to do in here!"

"I couldn't have known it was magic proof!" Blaise shot back defensively. "There's only one place in the entire world that's wandmagic proof. And that's Gringotts. The chances of this room being such were so slim I didn't even consider it."

Draco sensed an impending fight beginning to form, and the last thing they needed to lose was time. "It was good we were caught off guard," he cut in. "We reacted fast and it all worked out. It'll help prepare us for anything that goes wrong in Azkaban. So just shut up and copy the blueprints."

Pansy continued to glare fiercely at Blaise, but they both became silent.

"All right," Draco said transitionally, his heart rate finally returning to normal. "Blaise, are there any charms on this glass? What do we need to do to get the blueprints out?"

Blaise shot one last indignant look at Pansy. He turned to the glass case, set upon the tiny table in the middle, and moved closer.

"Well, it's mostly children's stuff," Blaise said, staring down at it and adopting his business-like tone. "According to the files back in London, the glass is protected by an Anti-Removable Charm. That means we can move the case, but the glass can't disappear and there's no way get the parchments _out._

"The blueprints themselves are heat sensitive; if anything above ninety eight point six degrees touches the parchment, it sets off some kind of alarm that will not only wake up the entire villa, but cue in reinforcements from the nearby village.

"Now," Blaise went on thoughtfully, circling the table and studying it, "the Ministry's files, unfortunately, did not name every spell protecting this thing. The only specifics were the two I just mentioned. However," he added, sensing Pansy's rising fiery questions, "I can do a series of tests to determine each spell. Then I'll disengage them, Draco can take the blueprints and copy them, and everything will be back in its original place in no time."

Draco crossed his arms, thrown off by the thickness of them before remembering he was in disguise. "This is supposed to take a half hour?" he asked, recalling Blaise's chronology of the entire evening.

"Ye of little faith," Blaise said, clicking his tongue. "A half hour, maybe a bit more. Give me ten, fifteen minutes to figure out each spell guarding the blueprints. Give me five to render them useless. Then you can take five to make your copies. Five minutes later, spells are back on, and we're heading back out to erase the guards' memories."

Draco smiled. "Bet you twenty galleons you won't do it in under forty."

Blaise's ugly face lit up. "You've got yourself a bet, Malfoy," he grinned.

"Can we _please_ put the testosterone to rest, boys?" Pansy asked delicately. "We've got a job to do here."

"Fine," Blaise said, still sore with her. "Help me take this case outside; obviously, I can't do magic on it in here."

Draco and Blaise carried the case out of the blueprint room and into the Potions cellar, setting it on the stone floor. Within minutes, Blaise was working tediously and muttering under his breath, prodding the glass case with his wand. Draco and Pansy sat on the floor, Pansy with a Potions book in her lap, Draco dozing on her shoulder.

Nearly thirty minutes later, Blaise cried out loudly, waking Draco from his light sleep. Pansy closed the book and set it aside; they leaned forward curiously to see what had happened.

"Got it," he said, flashing them a triumphant grin. "It's your job now, Draco."

Draco stood stiffly, working out the tension in his muscles. He approached the glass case and glanced down at it. It no longer had a top, and the yellow parchments lay motionless and unthreateningly within. He threw a questioning look over at Blaise.

"You sure it's safe?"

"Of course, moron. I wouldn't risk our being caught." He seemed both annoyed and offended.

With a tired sigh, Draco lowered himself to the floor again. He reached into the case and removed the small stack of parchments, hesitating slightly before pulling them out completely. Blaise cleared his throat pointedly and Draco rolled his eyes in impatience, taking them out fully and placing them in his lap.

Draco had extra parchments rolled up in the pocket of his cloak. It took nearly ten minutes for him to transfer the written layout of Azkaban prison onto his own papers; the originals were more complex then he'd been expecting. Blaise didn't help, either – he would huff every now and then, relaying his exasperation with time, and it would jerk Draco's concentration.

It was about then everything started to go wrong.

Draco tapped his wand against the final piece of parchment, focused, and sent a jet of ink splattering onto the surface. The ink droplets scattered and reformed, forming the last corner of the second level layout. It was barely dry when the sound of several pounding feet reached his ears.

He whipped his head over at Blaise and Pansy, who were both staring wide-eyed at the stairs that led into the basement. Now loud voices could be heard.

"Oh, fuck," Blaise said weakly.

Pansy was the first to react. She leaped to her feet and scooped up the original parchments, shoving them back into the case. With a quick burst of magic, the glass top reappeared and Pansy was rushing back into the blueprint room, case in hand.

"Blaise, _seal the door!_" she shouted from in the room. Blaise stood there dumbly. "Draco, climb out that window and find those guards! Erase their memories. If they remember a bloody _thing_, I'll personally slit your throat."

She emerged, manly face pale but determined. When she saw them merely standing and staring, her eyes blazed. "_Do it!_" she shrieked.

Blaise snapped into action; he did an interesting spin and stumbled up the stairs to seal the door. It sounded like the cavalry was just outside of it. Draco nodded once and looked over at the sliver of a window, above his head and the shelves of Potions ingredients.

What if there were guards out there, too? He stepped closer and peered out; all he could see was black. Glancing back, he saw Pansy was up the stairs, helping Blaise heave spells at the door.

_Just do it_, he ordered.

He climbed the shelves and stood level with the window. Grabbing his wand, he tapped the glass with the tip, and was pleasantly relieved when the glass vanished. He'd half expected the glass to require several spells before it disappeared.

His relief was short-lived; he then realized he couldn't get through the now glass-less window. He was too fat. If he had been his normal size, maybe. But not as he was.

Hopping back to the floor, he racked his brain, trying to remember how to reverse a Weight Spell. It finally struck him, but he couldn't concentrate long enough to get the words right.

He felt movement behind him; knew Pansy and Blaise were now hovering over his shoulder. They'd done all they could to seal the door and clearly were planning on escaping through the window along with him.

"Are there guards out there?" asked Blaise, a tad nervously.

"It doesn't matter if they are; just Stun them," Pansy hissed. "They won't recognize you when they wake up – but if those other guards wake up, they'll know it was us . . . _Draco__, will you get going?_"

"I'm trying to . . . to fit through the bloody window!" Draco screamed, his voice slightly more high-pitched than usual.

"Oh, for God's _sake . . . ._" Pansy waved her wand and muttered something, and Draco felt his torso deflate like a balloon. "There, now _go_."

"What are you two going to do?" Draco demanded.

Pansy's answer was interrupted by a particularly loud thump near the door . . . three pairs of eyes glanced over and saw it remained intact. Soon . . . soon the guards would be charging in. . . .

"Don't worry about us, just get out," Pansy said hurriedly, without her usual snap.

Puzzled, Draco stared at her a moment longer. But the door thudded again, and, as fast as he could, he pulled himself out the window into the night.

He slowly got to his feet, half expecting to see a million guards surrounding him and waiting to attack. The only sight that greeted him was the expanse of grass, slightly wavering in the breeze.

Turning back to the window, he leaned down and whispered loudly, "You coming?"

Pansy's reply was short and annoyed. "_Go_!"

Wondering why on earth he had to do this alone, he turned and jogged around the house. Why were Pansy and Blaise staying behind? Were they going to watch his back?

_Can't worry about it now_ . . . _I've got a job to do, and it's got to get done, no matter what Blaise and Pansy are playing at. _

He came around to the back entrance of the villa. Now that he was there, he felt apprehensive at opening the door. What if the guards were gone? What if they had been found, awaken, and were now telling the rest of the villa just who had Stunned them? Pansy and Blaise would be fugitives, too. . . .

He was almost afraid to look in. Berating himself for being such a wimp, he sucked in a breath and pushed the door open with one quick jerk.

He nearly laughed in relief. There, propped against the wall just as Pansy left them, were three dark forms.

The _real_ guards.

They were still out cold. Draco approached them slowly, just to be sure it wasn't a trap; he looked around to see if there was anyone else hiding in the shadows and listened closely for any noise. He didn't hear a sound, but if anything, it only sensitized his wariness.

He pressed his wandtip against the first guard's temple, trying to steady his mind and perform the spell. He didn't want to damage the man's brain; he just wanted him to forget the night's events. But if he didn't start _concentrating_, and didn't stop worrying about being _caught,_ the man would become a permanent human vegetable . . . .

One of Draco's traits was self-control. He was thankful for the blessing. Within moments he had steadied himself enough to whisper the words. Though whether he had erased the guard's memory of only the night or the past few weeks, he couldn't be sure.

He repeated the spell on the next guard, but before he could get to the third, he heard something. It sounded like the slight . . . very, _very_ slight . . . rustle of clothing. He straightened and froze, his ears strained for anything else.

The silence rang loudly.

_It's nothing, Malfoy_, he told himself firmly. _Quit being so jumpy. Just finish this already._

He tried to calm himself again, but this time it was harder. His mind was too busy trying to listen for unusual noises. After a couple of seconds he began to get frustrated, and this only aided his inability to focus.

"God_damnit__!_" he swore under his breath, gritting his teeth.

He didn't have much time for else. Without any warning whatsoever, something came down over his head and wrapped around his neck. It took Draco only a split second to realize that it was a pair of arms – someone had _jumped_ on his back and was holding on to him, cutting off his windpipe.

Whoever it was had jumped on with such force that Draco fell backwards, off-balance. With a loud thud, he landed on his back, the man's squishy body a nice way to break the fall. His attacker let out an "_oof_!" and loosened his hold on Draco's neck.

Draco reacted quickly. Furious at the man for trying to choke him – and for sneaking up on him – he jabbed an elbow into his attacker's stomach. The man gave a strangled cough and his grip slackened even more; Draco was able to reach up and rip his arms away from his neck. Glorious oxygen rushed in and all at once, he wasn't thinking; he was just doing.

And what he needed to do was run.

Draco rolled off the attacker and scurried to his feet; he was stumbling away, bent at the waist and slightly unsteady, when the man snatched the back hem of his cloak. He gave a jerk to keep Draco from escaping, and Draco nearly tumbled back down. Just barely managing to stay up, he twisted around and reached for his wand.

The man pulled himself into a sitting position using Draco's cloak as help. Draco gave a kick and caught him squarely in the ribs; he released a yelp and dropped the hem. In an instant, Draco was sprinting out the door, away, away, the knowledge that he hadn't erased the third guard's memory plaguing his mind. . . .

Shouts came from behind him. It sounded as if his attacker was calling for reinforcements. Draco paused for an instant, hidden in the shadows of the house, heart thudding somewhere in his throat and breathing violently.

"Okay," he panted to himself. "Okay. What now, Draco?"

There really was only one choice. He would have to return to his room. What else could he do? He didn't know where Pansy and Blaise were – either _they_ had returned to their rooms, or they were caught. If they were caught, then . . . well, he'd have to get them out of custody somehow. But _first_, he needed to be found innocent. Once all the commotion died down, he imagined Tannar would be checking on his guests. And if he wasn't in his room when that happened, he would be considered an accomplice. If he was sitting in his room, pretty as you please, when Tannar came, then he could deny knowing anything. It would be a flimsy excuse, but it was the only option at the moment.

He'd almost forgotten he was still in disguise. Running a hand over his face, he could feel the differences in his features. Good; the man who attacked him would have no idea the criminal was really blond and devilishly handsome.

Glancing back over his shoulder, he saw no signs of pursuers coming towards him. As long as his attacker couldn't find anyone to help him, he would be safe. But that was a false sense of security; someone knew he was out here, and as long as he stayed outside of the villa, he was in constant danger of being caught.

Almost casually, he started towards the pool area, where he knew he could easily enter through the glass doors. Rounding the corner, he found himself no longer straining to see in the dark; the pool was lit up, just as it had been the previous evening. And just across the Quidditch Pitch, he saw a faint trace of pink along the horizon.

It was dawn.

Draco quickened his pace and reached the glass doors, trying the handle. Naturally, they were locked. But the glass would be simple enough. . . .

Abruptly, he heard the sound of someone talking. Whipping his head to the side, he deciphered that someone was coming around the corner he had just strolled around, and would be in his line of sight in just moments.

Time to get inside.

"_Evanesco_," Draco muttered, his voice surprisingly steady.

The glass remained perfectly intact.

Draco had to swallow back the very girlish scream that threatened to rip from his throat. It had worked on the window in the basement! Why wasn't it working now?

Yes, someone was certainly coming. No longer voices; just heavy footsteps. If he didn't move soon, they would see him, and . . . well, suffice to say, they would probably Stun now and ask questions later.

_Hide. I need to hide._

Wildly, Draco spun around, looking for a hiding place. His quick movement caused his robes to brush by something propped against the house beside the door, sending it clattering to the ground. Draco blinked down, and, once realizing what it was, stared blankly.

It was a broom.

_Of course!_ his mind rejoiced. _You left it here this afternoon, remember? After you and Weasley came back from swimming and Pansy dragged you into the house. You put it here!_

He'd never known a relief so great.

Without waiting another beat, he grabbed the broom and swung a leg over. Then he kicked off the ground and sailed upwards, wondering if he should simply fly away to the nearest town and Floo back to Madrid. He quickly discarded this idea; he needed to stick around – for one, to prove he'd been in his room the entire time, and for another, to rescue Pansy and Blaise's arses if they'd been caught.

Not a second later, the approaching footsteps came around the corner of the house. Draco swiftly flew above the roof and landed as quietly as humanly possible. It was dark, but if by chance they had looked up, they would've seen him. He peered over the edge and saw the footsteps belonged to only three guards, strolling along as if they were in no hurry whatsoever. It seemed to take an eternity, but eventually they walked directly underneath him, right on by, and then disappeared around the next corner of the villa. The sounds of their footfalls vanished.

_Oh, hell, Draco, you just had the luckiest moment of your life_, he thought.

He got back on his broom and flew off the roof, turning to face the backside of the house. Directly before him was the second-level half-moon window that led into his room. He was struck with a thought. _Maybe the Vanishing Spell will work on the window_, he mused. It had worked on the window in the cellar, hadn't it? Wouldn't hurt to try, he decided.

"_Evanesco_," he said, firmly but quietly. His thudding heart was beginning to slow and his breathing wasn't as ragged. He was beginning to feel somewhat normal again.

And it certainly helped that the entire glass of the window disappeared as soon as he waved his wand.

Clearly, the Vanishing Spell only worked on the villa's windows.

He flew in easily, landing in neat semi-circle of pool-light streaming in from the open space. He replaced the glass, sealing out the night's noises, and reveled in the darkness and silence. He was – for now – safe.

Discarding the SilverWing 2000 – which, he decided, he would keep; the beauty had saved his life – he sat on the edge of the bed and kicked off his shoes. Then he flipped back the covers and lay on his back. Now was the easy part. Pretend to have been sleeping the entire night. When Tannar came in later on, he could easily claim he'd been in his room since the previous evening.

Draco was tired, but his blood was still racing and his breathing was still heavy. He couldn't fall asleep just yet. He stared at the ceiling, his eyes slowly adjusting to the dark.

Two things dawned on him at that moment. One was that he was still in his disguise. Though he was back to his normal size, his face and hair were still different.

The other thing was that he wasn't in his room. The walls were lighter and the space was smaller. Also – the most disturbing thing of all – the bed was warm.

He didn't have time to dwell on these facts. Something shifted beside him, and then there was a loud scream.

For one horrifying minute, he thought _he_ had let out the shriek. But then he turned his head and found himself staring at a pale and wild-haired Weasley, with eyes wide open and mouth twisted in a frightened shout.

Draco sat up and scrambled out of the bed, worried that Ginny would have the guards racing back upstairs. She bolted up and held the sheets against her chest, still screaming . . . didn't the girl need to _breathe_?

"Shh! Shut up, Weasley, shut up! It's me! It's Draco!" he shouted irritably, trying to get her to be quiet.

She stopped screaming, but when she spoke she was still bellowing. "What? Get out of my room! Who are you? How'd you get in? I'm warning you, I'm trained in self defense!"

"Weasley, will you shut up? It's _Malfoy__!_ Can't you hear my voice?" Draco watched her fumble on her nightstand for her wand. "Just hold on for _two seconds_ and I'll show you."

Her hand paused, and he could see her squint at him. Her face was lined with sleep, but her eyes were alert and wary. He crossed the room in two strides and stood before a mirror on the opposite wall, keen on setting his looks to normal before Ginny thought of stunning him.

Having a mirror helped him return his face to its usual splendor a lot more quickly than without one. It also helped that he wasn't in a wild panic of being caught – Ginny might have been a mild threat, but she wasn't a dangerous one. He threw a glance back at her and saw her still sitting on the bed, knees drawn up to her chest and her wand out in front of her. She looked ready to retaliate only if he came closer.

"Look, you see?" Draco asked, annoyed, as his hair lightened in color and weight. It was peculiar to see his nose shrink and his skin whiten; peculiar to see his face emerge from someone else's.

Ginny's squinting eyes widened as she suddenly recognized him. Her mouth dropped open and for a moment, she said nothing. Then she muttered shakily, "Draco?"

"_Yes_, it's me, like I told you," he snapped. "Look, my mistake, Weasley; I thought this was my room." _There must be two windows shaped like the top half of a moon_, he thought bitterly_, and I was in such a panic I didn't notice the other one. _"Sorry I woke you up. Go back to sleep; sunrise isn't for another hour or so."

"What?" In the bad lighting he could see her puzzled expression. "How could you mistake _my_ room for yours?"

"Don't ask me stupid questions," he said, annoyance melting into fatigue. He scooped up the broom from where he'd dropped it before he headed for the door.

"What is that? A broom?"

"No." Draco reached the door, put his hand on the knob, and froze. He could hear noise outside; it sounded as if several people were walking up the stairs and heading down the hallway, talking in low tones.

_Fan-bloody-tastic_, Draco thought, rolling his eyes up in his head. It seemed as if Ginny's screams _had_ been heard. Either that, or Tannar was coming up to check on his guests a few minutes sooner than Draco had anticipated.

"Weasley?" Draco turned back to face her.

She was still sitting up and confused. "Yeah?"

He glanced to his side and saw a wardrobe against the wall next to the door. He opened it up and put his broom neatly inside, careful to hide it behind Ginny's clothing. "I hope the thought of sleeping with me doesn't embarrass you."

He could almost _see_ her redden. "What?" She was faintly shocked.

"Because I'm afraid," Draco said, calmly removing his robes, "that that is precisely what everyone is going to think."

"Is someone coming?" Ginny's question was answered by a solid knock – no, _pound_ – on her door. "Ah, I see," she finished quietly.

Draco balled his incriminating robes and shoved them in the corner of the wardrobe. He wore a pair of ratty jeans and a black shirt underneath. He considered taking off his shirt, thought better of it, and hopped back into bed beside Ginny, preparing himself to appear as innocent as the Muggle-lover next to him.

"How do I look?" Draco asked her, smiling placidly in her direction. "Like myself?"

"Your usual wanker self," she mumbled in the manner of one pouting.

"Perfect," he said, and then called cheerily, "Come in!" to whoever waited outside the door.

Ginny hit his arm. "It's _my_ room," she hissed, her knees still against her chest and the sheets still up at her chin.

It didn't matter. Whoever knocked entered anyway. The hallway light spilled in, making it hard to see who it was. Draco counted the dark forms that came in; there were three. One spoke, and was instantly identified as Tannar.

"Ms. Weasley?" he asked, somewhat cautiously.

"Yes, I'm here," Ginny said. She waved the wand clutched in her hand to light the room.

Draco's eyes hurt as the candles whooshed to life. When his vision had adjusted and he was able to keep them open, he discovered Tannar was accompanied by two other men dressed in the same type of robes Draco himself had just discarded. They had to be guards of some sort.

"Oh," Tannar said, weakly. "I see we've found Mr. Malfoy."

Draco gave a short wave.

"Were you looking for him?" Ginny asked coolly. "He's been in here the entire evening."

Draco studied her profile. She wasn't blushing; she was controlled. He knew she was acting, but only because he knew the truth; had he not _known_ he hadn't been there all night, he would've believed her. It was startling to find her façade so poised and perfect, when around him she was so easily put off-balance. He was, despite himself, almost impressed.

"Well, we've . . . er, well we've had something of a break-in," Tannar went on uneasily. His eyes darted nervously around the room, uncomfortable to keep them on Draco and Ginny together in the bed.

"Really? Was anything stolen?" She sounded politely concerned. Nothing more and nothing less.

"N – no, everything remains where it was," Tannar answered.

_They know_, Draco thought suddenly. _They know it was us trying to steal the blueprints. _His mouth went dry, but he didn't have a chance to hold onto this realization; seconds later Ginny was speaking again and diverting his attention.

"We haven't heard anything," Ginny said smoothly, glancing down at Draco. "Did you?"

"Nope, not a thing." Draco forced a smirk and put his hands behind his head.

"I was just checking on my guests," Tannar explained, as if someone had asked. "Just to make sure you weren't harmed. I'm glad to see you're not. We'll, eh, we'll just be going."

"Good night," Ginny sang. The two guards exited, followed by Tannar, and then she and Draco were left alone.

"A break-in, huh?" Draco said in attempt to be light. His mind, however, was dark and reeling.

_Ginny knows I'm after the blueprints_. _Somehow she found out. _Had she somehow spied on Pansy, Blaise, and him when they were discussing their plans? He racked his brains, but he couldn't come up with a time when she could've been listening without them knowing. All day, the three of them had been planning in Pansy's room. Pansy had sealed it with a Soundproof Charm and several other enchantments to keep the unwanted out.

The fact that she knew worried Draco in more ways than one. If she found out so much information without him being aware, then who was to say she couldn't figure _everything_ out with time? Pansy was right in one aspect; if Ginny did discover The Plan, chances are she'd do it without him knowing that _she_ knew.

_I'll just be more careful_, he promised. _All the main planning is done, anyway. Pansy and Blaise can do the last minute preparations we need to enter Azkaban. I'll keep Weasley away. She'll be so occupied with me she'll forget anything else. She won't suspect anything beyond what I tell her. _

"You know what I find weird?" Ginny commented, responding to Draco's statement. She didn't wait for him to ask what. "Seconds before Tannar tells us there was a break-in, _you_ appear in my bed disguised as some pock-marked, dark-haired . . . _fiend_."

"I suppose that is rather peculiar," Draco agreed.

"Something you'd care to explain, Malfoy?" she asked primly, looking down at him pointedly with her lips pressed together.

_No, you're figuring everything out just fine on your own_. "Not particularly, no," Draco said, shifting to get comfortable and closing his eyes. "I'm absolutely exhausted, Weasley. If you don't mind, I think I'll sleep right here."

"I do mind," she huffed. "You smell."

Draco's eyes flew open. He turned and sat up so he was level with her. "Excuse me?" he demanded in a low voice.

Though her face was sober, she had a smile in her voice. "You _reek_, Malfoy. Like sweat. You need a shower like you've probably never needed one in your life."

Draco glared for a moment longer, before pretending to decipher what she meant. "_Oh_, I see," he said all-knowingly. "You just want to shower with me. That's a horribly mean way of saying so, Weasley, but I suppose since I'm generally a nice person, I'll −"

"I know this will come as the shock of a lifetime, _Draco_, but I have no interest in sleeping with you," she said, poking a finger on his chest.

"Oh no? Do you hear that, Weasley? It sounds like a bet."

She looked away, but he still caught the grin on her lips. "Get your ears checked," she mumbled.

_I see it doesn't take much to distract you_, Draco thought pleasantly, his assumptions confirmed. If she had truly been curious as to why he had popped into her room in a disguise, she would've continued to press the issue.

"Well, I can see where I'm not wanted," he said lightly, throwing back the covers. "I suppose I'll just retire to my own room, then."

"You do that," she said sternly. "And get a shower while you're at it."

He retrieved his broom and robes from the wardrobe – fortunately, the copied blueprints were still in the pockets − and left without another goodbye to Ginny. Rapidly, his playful mood vanished and he began to focus on the horrible position he was in.

_All right_, he thought, trying to think things through. He entered his _own_ room and went about securing the blueprints into a hidden panel in his trunk. _I need to find Blaise and Pansy._

Draco seriously wanted to do nothing other than sink into bed and wake up sometime next week. But he had a job to do, and he always saw something through until the end. It was just bad luck this certain thing had to be fixed before the sun came up.

* * *

"What do you _mean_, the alarm didn't go off?"

Ginny stood in what had to be Tannar's office, a secret room off the servants' wing that only Tannar himself could invite people into. She's simply slid on a pair of jeans to accompany the oversized T-shirt that she'd slept in, but she was far too livid to care about her attire. It wasn't as if she had to be presentable anyway; the only people in the room besides herself and Tannar were the two guards who stood by the door, faces stony and unreadable, presenting the impression they weren't listening to a word being said. Several more were securing the hallway outside, passing by the door every so often. Ginny thought all the protection ridiculous. Pansy, Blaise, and Draco were not going to attack anyone − not now, and not anytime soon.

"Just that, Ms. Weasley," Tannar answered. His face was red and his hands were fluttering nervously over his desk, rearranging and straightening papers. "I had that alarm put on the blueprints just this afternoon, so there wasn't any time to check it. You really didn't give me much of a warning −"

"_Kindly_ don't blame this on me, Tannar," Ginny interrupted angrily. Unlike earlier, she was honestly furious; she wasn't ordering Tannar around for kicks.

Tannar appeared highly interested with something inside his desk drawer. "The – the alarm that was cast on the blueprints was to be set off whenever the parchments were moved, even a tiny fraction of an inch," he went on uncertainly. "It's a relatively new spell, one that is supposed to be put on objects that will _never_ be moved again. For example, this spell has been put on several museum artifacts that will spend the rest of their existence in the same display. The reason for this is because once the spell is cast, it is impossible to remove. Physically and mentally impossible."

"So there is no way they could've removed this Alarm Spell from the parchments?" Ginny said doubtfully, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes.

"None whatsoever," Tannar replied with the most confidence yet.

"Fat lot of good it did you, Tannar. The alarm didn't go off," she reminded him snappishly.

"No, no it _did_," he said hurriedly. "It just didn't go off at _first_. Whoever cast the spell made a mistake, that's all."

"Oh, is that _all_?"

"Fortunately, one of my best men, Sturdivant, was overseeing all the alarms in my office here," Tannar proceeded, trying to ignore her sarcasm. "You see there?" He pointed to the upper corner of the ceiling, where a bell no bigger than a hand bell hung from a tiny platform. "That was supposed to sound as soon as the parchments were touched. Unfortunately, when it _did_ ring, the parchments had been moved over twenty minutes beforehand."

"Well, how wonderfully _convenient_ for them," Ginny gushed. She was beginning to believe that Tannar had been outsmarted. It was possible that the three Slytherins had discovered the particular alarm spell and since they couldn't remove it, they had _delayed _it.

Come to think of it, even _she_ had been outsmarted. According to Tannar, they hadn't simply burst into the blueprint room, stunned all the guards in sight, and snatched the parchments, which was what she'd thought they would do. They'd been much more subtle and ingenious. They'd taken three guards' places, stunned the fourth, and left the parchments where they were.

"Might I ask _why_ there were only four guards surrounding the blueprints, Tannar?" Ginny pressed.

He finally met her eyes, but as per usual, looked immensely uncomfortable. "I had the other two patrolling the entire villa," he said meekly. "I hoped that they would scare Zabini, Parkinson, and Malfoy away if they saw them. But . . . well, my two men only reported seeing two other guards – which we now know _were_ two of the three criminals."

"Wouldn't you _assume_," Ginny said through clenched teeth, taking her cues from her observations of Creedmoore, "that the blueprints _themselves_ would need more protection than the _damn villa?_"

"Ms. Weasley," he said, blinking rapidly, "you must understand I did everything I thought would be best. I did everything you told me to, as well. Certainly this situation was unavoidable." He cleared his throat and looked away, affected by her hot glare. "And . . . and the important thing is, the blueprints remain intact."

_Yes, they are still there . . ._ Ginny mused. _But I doubt that means they didn't obtain them._

The timeline just wouldn't make sense otherwise. If the three Slytherins had intended to take the blueprints, then they would've had ample time to grab the parchments and leave the cellar before the alarm sounded. But they were still down there after twenty minutes. They had to have made copies. It was the only logical explanation.

"Where are Parkinson and Zabini?" she asked abruptly, changing course.

"We . . . ah, we eventually let them escape, just as you requested," he answered. "One of my men kept a watch on them. They returned to their rooms and are probably preparing to leave as soon as they possibly can."

"You let them _believe_ they escaped? Not that they were simply let free?" Ginny asked pointedly.

"Absolutely."

"I must admit, Tannar," she said slowly, her anger sizzling quietly beneath her controlled composure, "that I'm highly disappointed in you. Not only did your 'alarm' idea completely blow up in your face, but your _men_ tried to capture Zabini, Parkinson, and Malfoy. Did I not tell you _specifically_ that the most important aspect of this entire mission was to _not_ arrest them?"

Tannar reddened again. Absently, he shuffled some papers. He mumbled something under his breath, something that sounded oddly like, "They bloody well _weren't_ arrested."

"What's that?"

He muttered something more coherent and completely different. "I ­− I − the guards . . . they didn't all get the word."

"Well," Ginny said shortly, leaning her hip against his desk and narrowing her eyes down at him. "Wouldn't you think it was your job to get the word to all of them?"

For the first time all evening, Tannar grew a spine. "I didn't _think_ that all my guards would be called to handle this situation," he said indignantly. "I told the select few that I thought I would need that they were to make no arrests, to pretend to chase and let them escape, and then I let the rest go home for the night and sleep with their wives. I was unprepared when the men I chose for this project called in for reinforcements. It wasn't entirely my fault they didn't pass the word along."

"You know what Tannar?" Ginny demanded, her anger and frustration rising. "This isn't _my_ fault, and this certainly isn't your _guards_' fault. Who does that leave? Even if you're not all to blame, _I'm going to blame you anyway_. Congratulations on failing the Ministry."

His jaw dropped and he mouthed noiselessly, but Ginny had had enough. She spun on her heel and stomped to the door. The guards parted and let her exit, and she could've sworn she saw one's lips quirk in a grin.

She tried to calm herself down as she strode back to her bedroom. Already, she knew she'd lost her cool and had said some things she probably shouldn't have.

Really, it was as much her fault as it was Tannar's. Hadn't she gone to bed peacefully, assuming that nothing would go wrong? She had most certainly underestimated the Slytherins' cunning; she should have known there was a strong possibility they would get past all obstacles she set in their path.

_Hindsight is twenty-twenty_, she thought with a heavy sigh, walking down the hall to her room. She stopped in front of Draco's bedroom and listened for a moment; silence from within. Pansy and Blaise's rooms were also lifeless. Hopefully – but not likely – they hadn't left yet.

"Oh, how great," she said under her breath, entering her own room and closing the door quietly behind her. An unusual odor greeted her, and it took her a moment before she remembered her Veritaserum. It sat in the corner of the room, covered with an extra sheet she'd found in her wardrobe. Had Draco noticed it? Probably not.

_Not over his own stench, anyway_, she thought, and had to smile. It was comforting to know that even glamorous rich men like Malfoy could sweat and smell like the best of them.

Ginny ignored her beckoning bed and its mass of comfortable sheets and sat down at the desk, gearing her mind into focus-mode. Several things had gone wrong tonight, but only one had an ultimate outcome – the blueprints, it would seem, were in Draco's possession.

_What do they _want_ them for?_ Ginny anguished for the hundredth time. She desperately tried to remember the conversation she overheard in Draco's flat, running it over and over to see if she missed anything. But most of it had been on the topic of actually _stealing_ the prints . . . she even thought that they mentioned something about copying them, but then, she could've made that up to support her own assumptions.

Once again, she ran the possibilities of the blueprints uses through her brain. The only plausible one she could think of was that they wanted to release some prisoner and needed to know the layout of the prison to do so. Any other reason would be stupid – no one would go through so much trouble if they were merely _curious_ of Azkaban's architecture.

_Let's go with the assumption they're going to help a prisoner escape_, she thought, standing up to pace and rejuvenate her body. _Who would it be?_

Ginny knew right off the top of her head that Draco's father, Lucius Malfoy, was in Azkaban at that moment. She wasn't sure about Pansy and Blaise's relatives . . . come to think of it, why weren't Blaise and Pansy themselves in Azkaban? Were they like Draco and dead to the entire wizarding world?

She would have to find out. First, she'd owl Ron and have him send her information on Zabini and Parkinson's status and criminal record. Then she'd have Creedmoore find someone who knew all about security in Azkaban and have _him_ send her all she needed to know about it.

Ginny glanced at her clock. It was six in the morning, and the sun's first rays were weakly pouring in through the half-moon window above her bed.

_Well_, she thought wearily, _at least I got a good five hours of sleep._

She sat back down and began to write her first letter.

* * *


	12. They Come

A/N: Hey friends. Miss me? Forget about me? Who am I, you ask? Only the worst author in the world for taking three months to update.

This school year has been crazier than I anticipated. Are you interested in a sample of a typical day for me? I shall show you. 5:50 AM – wake up. 6:30 AM – go to school. 6:45 AM – band rehearsal. 7:25 AM – school. 2:30 PM – drumline. 4:00 PM – work. 8:00 PM – homework. 11:00 PM – bedtime. It's so much fun I can't even describe my feelings.

I really hate how sarcasm doesn't come across in writing.

Anyway, I haven't abandoned this story, and I won't until it's finished. Don't worry. However, it might take quite a bit in coming. Next semester I hope to have more time, so expect more updates in the winter. I think.

Um, I also suck at life because there is only one chapter. I promised two on my profile (which I'm sure about three of you read) but the next one needs a lot of work because – GASP! – there's a mild sex scene, and . . . well, let's just suffice to say I'm a virgin.

So enjoy this one, for it will be another couple of months before thirteen graces you with its presence.

I still love you all.

Thanks to Jho for betaing.

And Amanda, I love you most because . . . just because. Marry me?

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**Chapter Twelve**

**_They Come_**

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_Saturday, 15 March, 2003_

Two days later in Madrid, Spain, Draco − alert and ready to face his problems after a solid day of rest − Apparated into Pansy's flat. As usual, he was the last to arrive; Pansy and Blaise were waiting for him in the living room, talking in quiet tones. They stopped when he walked in.

They might've been angry because he'd taken Friday off, he reckoned as he took in their stony faces. As soon as Draco had Flooed to Pansy's flat yesterday, he'd Disapparated straight to his own, falling onto his bed without so much as removing his shoes. He'd slept through the day and had woken up sometime in the evening, made himself something to eat, and then had gone back to sleep. When he woke up again, it was Saturday morning and his head felt one hundred percent clearer.

All morning, he'd moped around and thought. He thought about Ginny Weasley, mostly. Her situation was beginning to become complicated. Much more complicated than he'd made it out to be.

Draco tried to think things through rationally. Hypothetically, if Ginny discovered that Pansy, Blaise, and himself were going to release all the prisoners in Azkaban, then there would be little she could do. There was no physical way she could find out _how_ they were going to go about it. Most of The Plan was sketched in the Slytherins' heads, not on parchments. The little that _was_ written down was so thickly covered with spells and enchantments that it would take an outsider several months to decipher it all.

So all Ginny could do − hypothetically − was warn the Azkaban guards and make security a little tighter. This would be a nuisance, but not an impossibility. The three of them had spent many, many, _many_ weeks preparing this operation, and they knew just how to get past all the dementors, whether they be asleep, or guarding each cell in triples.

What could Weasley do to stop them?

Well, Draco supposed she could have _him_ arrested, right there in Spain. But that would be an extreme action, and Draco doubted she would have enough evidence to convince herself to have him sent to jail immediately and here in Spain.

_It will also be hard for her to arrest me if she's desperately in love with me_, he thought with a slight grin.

While at first it seemed to be the best option to just get rid of Weasley, if he delved deeper he found it would be smarter to keep her around. Draco felt confident with Weasley; he felt he could control her; could handle her. The chances were slim that she would discover just what the three of them were up to, but even if she did, it wouldn't be such a catastrophe. And if – no, not if, _when_ – he managed to make her fall in love with him, she would be under his persuasion. She would do nothing to take action against him . . . maybe she would even quit the Ministry to be with him. But of course, by then, it would be too late.

Azkaban would already be freed.

On top of all this – and perhaps the real reason of keeping her around – Draco saw Ginny as a challenge. Not as a sort of sexual conquest (though he couldn't deny that would be half the fun), but more of an intellectual one. He had to admit that he actually enjoyed himself when he was around her. She was quick and smart, but at the same time she was also uncertain, bashful, and easy to annoy. After spending a year in the monotonous existence of packing up and leaving country after country with only Blaise and Pansy for company, Draco found that he almost welcomed Weasley into his life. He supposed it would be the same if any other snappy, humorous, cute, doe-eyed redheaded woman stumbled into his path.

Sometimes, it was nice to share company with people other than Slytherins, Draco thought. He knew Slytherins too well. Ginny, on the other hand, always kept him guessing.

"Draco," Pansy greeted with a stiff smile. "How was your day off?"

"Short," he grumbled, taking a seat on the sofa beside Blaise. "Any news on the Tannar incident?"

Blaise gave a shrug. "Nothing new. It didn't make the _Daily Prophet _or any Greek newspapers, so I'm assuming they don't know it was us."

Draco frowned. The previous morning, they'd left Tannar's villa as soon as they were packed. To lessen the suspicion on them, they'd bid farewell to Rafe in person, making some lame excuse that something terrible had happened back home that required their attention. Tannar was stonily polite, strengthening Draco's belief that he knew they'd broken into the blueprint room. He hadn't even kissed Pansy's hand, which was a dead giveaway.

Draco hadn't mentioned his beliefs to Pansy or Blaise. He hadn't mentioned the guard whose memory was intact, either. He felt they didn't need to know. Pansy would be furious that Ginny knew so much, and would berate him nonstop with _I told you so_s.

What they didn't know, wouldn't hurt them.

However, there was something _he_ still didn't know, and needed to. Fixing them with a narrowed stare, he asked in a coldly polite tone, "Why didn't you two follow me out of the cellar that night?"

"Oh, please, Draco," Pansy cried, as if he were the one disappointing _her_, "we had to make sure they couldn't get into the cellar."

What? "That makes no sense," he declared, gearing up for an argument. They'd thrown as many spells as possible at the door. There had been no need to stick around and guard it any longer.

"Well, it's over," Pansy said irrefutably. He blinked – was she avoiding the subject? "It's done, and we got what we wanted. Time to focus on the next phase of our Plan."

Draco frowned, fully intent on pressing the matter further. He wasn't sure why it bothered him so much that they had left him on his own during the Blueprint Stunt, but something about it just didn't seem right.

And yet as he opened his mouth, he saw that Pansy and Blaise were looking at him with odd expressions on their faces. They appeared to be waiting for him to make some kind of reaction.

"What?" Draco barked, his intentions slipping away. He made a mental note to bring it up again, and soon.

Pansy looked at Blaise, and smiled slowly. "Well, Draco, while you were sleeping yesterday, Blaise and I were working."

"You're the one who _told_ me to take the day off," Draco argued defensively.

"Calm down, mate, we're not scolding you," Blaise said with a faint grin. "We're just trying to explain who's about to come."

Idiotically, he thought, _Weasley_! The moment it popped into his head, he wanted to ram his face into something hard. Weasley was _not_ coming, and damn it, he needed to get her off his mind.

"Who?" Draco asked warily, taking note of their almost gleeful looks.

Pansy smiled at Blaise again, and then met Draco's eyes. She pouted her lips and asked innocently, "Draco, darling . . . when was the last time you saw your mum?"

* * *

Ginny had returned to Amistoso Inn, and, just like Draco, had spent all of Friday lounging around in her room. She didn't, however, think of much, unlike he had. She read some trashy romance novels, hoarded food from the dining room into her bed and ate like a starved lunatic, and slept a lot. All in all, it was the perfect way to spend a holiday.

By Saturday morning, she was sick of her room and ready to get back to work.

She decided to pay Maili a visit. She could only hope the O'Sheldons hadn't left yet; unfortunately, it would seem about time for them to do so. They'd arrived before she had, a good week ago.

She knocked on Maili's door, hoping that there wasn't another resident to whom she'd have to explain her presence. When it swung open, Ginny found her eyes traveling downward and resting on Maili's adorable son. Kevin grinned up at her as though she were just who he had been waiting for.

"Hello!" he said brightly. "Mummy, someone's here for you!" he called over his shoulder.

Ginny heard some movement, and a moment later Maili appeared behind her son. Her face lit up at the sight of Ginny, positively thrilled.

"Ginny!" she cried, reaching forward to wrap her in a hug.

It would have been awkward had Ginny not been so relieved to see a friendly face. She hugged Maili back and pulled away grinning.

"I've only been gone two days," Ginny remarked, allowing herself to be pulled into the room by her wrist.

"You can't imagine how anxious I've been for your return," Maili gushed. Noticing Ginny scanning the room, her excited tone changed to that of embarrassment. "Oh . . . I'm sorry, it's something of a mess. Shannon," she added, nodding to the old, frail nanny asleep in a chair in the corner, chin on chest and snoring slightly, "has been asleep all morning and Kevin and I have been playing. We haven't had the chance to straighten up . . ." She hustled about, picking up crawling action figures, playing cards that were arguing in quiet – though high-pitched – voices with one another, and the random Chocolate Frog springing here and there.

"Don't worry," Ginny assured her, still smiling. "I'm used to chaos. I can move around it." Nudging a pile of wriggling clothes aside (clearly a miniature model of a dragon had gotten trapped underneath), Ginny sat on the bed without waiting for an invitation.

Maili didn't bother with politeness; she ceased insisting she must clean. She was far too curious about what had happened in Greece. A moment later she sat beside Ginny and was begging to know what had occurred.

Ginny said nothing about the entire blueprint fiasco. It was more out of the lack of energy that was required to explain such a complicated situation than lack of trust that she avoided it. However, she told Maili just about everything else. About her acquaintance with Pansy and Blaise, about her private moments with Draco, about how she suspected Pansy was jealous of the two of them . . . and as was her style, Maili listened with rapt attention, never interrupting, all while Shannon the nanny slept on and Kevin chattered incessantly under his breath as he played with his toys.

"So what are you going to do now?" Maili pressed, after expressing her shock at the sudden disappearance of Draco, Pansy, and Blaise Friday morning. "Are you going to go back to his house? Or are you going to pretend to run into him somewhere?"

Ginny had thought about the same thing herself. She'd decided the best choice would be that she appear randomly on his doorstep. She could claim she asked around Madrid and eventually, she'd asked the right person (a neighbor perhaps, because even Malfoy had to converse with a neighbor on occasion), who led her to him.

But she was still reluctant to share this with Maili. It wasn't that she didn't trust her . . . well, not entirely. It was more of the fact that Ginny just didn't feel she _knew_ her that well. Maili did not need to be sucked into Ginny's whirlpool of problems. Not yet, anyway. Maili had been a great help with the Locator Spell, but that was only because Ginny had been completely stuck. She was not completely stuck yet. Only as a last resort would she use Maili's help again.

"I haven't decided yet," Ginny said carefully. "Don't worry, I'll figure it all out eventually." Maili opened her mouth to interrupt, but Ginny hurried on. "I just came by to thank you for all your help. I'm lucky I caught you before you left Spain."

Maili easily switched subjects. "Oh no, we're here for another week or so," she assured her. "We might drive to Barcelona or the coast for a day, but we're staying at the inn for a while. It's our first proper holiday since . . . well, since before Kevin was born."

Ginny smiled. "I hope you are enjoying yourselves then." She paused and tried to gracefully change topics. "Have you spoken with Penelope since Thursday?"

"Oh, yes. We went shopping yesterday. Marvelous with Kevin." She shot a loving look at her son. "Never would have guessed, the way she is. What she needs is a nice man to settle down with and raise some kids. She'll be a great mum."

Ginny nodded, and began to feel for a way to excuse herself. She needed to get back to work soon, and sitting here chatting with Maili was tempting her to forget work and just spend the day here. She couldn't afford that. "Well, I'm glad you two are becoming such good friends. I think she needs that." Ginny didn't really know what she was talking about, but it sounded appropriate. "Once I have a break in work, we'll all have to go out sometime."

"Take a break from work tonight," Maili said simply, shrugging. "It's Saturday. I'm sure Madrid's nightlife is even crazier on weekends."

Ginny smiled apologetically and stood. "Unfortunately, that's why I need to be with Draco," she said.

"Well, Monday then," Maili said, walking her to the door. "We had such a good time the other night, and I'm eager to do something again. So keep your schedule clear. Remember," she added as Ginny stepped out into the hall, "I know where you sleep."

Ginny smiled broadly. "Then I'll just have to find someone else's bed to sleep in," she said, wagging her eyebrows.

Maili laughed. "And I'm sure you will." She watched Ginny walk down the hall, her humor slowly fading. "Good luck, Ginny," she called. Gnawing on her lower lip, she added quietly, _You'll certainly need it._

* * *

Draco never thought that he would see his mother again.

It wasn't as if had he necessarily wanted it to be so, either. Things in his life had just gotten out of control and never seeing Narcissa again seemed like a very possible reality.

His mother hadn't ever been the affectionate, nurturing type. She was the polar opposite of Lucius. She rarely touched Draco, and she never raised her voice. Narcissa Black had been raised under the belief that a proper lady was seen, not heard. She always followed the rule.

As a young child, Draco had naturally loved his mother. There were several occasions when she would warm up to him, laugh at something he did, kiss him on the cheek, run her fingers gently through his hair. But they were rare. And, unfortunately, only fueled his painful love for her.

He'd wanted so desperately to please her. He'd been bright enough to know that a mother was supposed to care for and cherish her child, and to realize that his mother was not fulfilling those responsibilities. As a result, everything he did, he did in hopes she would give him a warm smile or a hearty kiss. Even a kind or encouraging word was coveted.

When he grew old enough to sense human emotions, at about age eight or nine, he began to notice how his mother would look at his father. Narcissa clearly thought that Lucius Malfoy was God. When the three of them had dinner together (which they did often, back before Draco went to school), she would be uncharacteristically talkative and frequently look over at Lucius with big eyes to see if he was listening. Most of the time, he wasn't. But she never seemed to care. Just being with him was enough.

As soon as Draco realized this, he sought to be his father.

If he could be like Lucius, then maybe Mum would love him. Maybe she would look at _him_ with pleading eyes to make sure he was paying attention to her. And when she found that he was, maybe she would lavish affection on him.

And maybe life would be normal.

Maybe.

Narcissa never noticed that her son became the spitting image of her husband. And yet Draco kept hoping, and kept mimicking.

Around Draco's fifth year at Hogwarts, Lucius stopped coming home most nights, always busy with something . . . something to help Voldemort, something to help the Death Eaters, or both. And Narcissa, hurt and rejected, filled her time doing what she did best; visiting, shopping, and having meals with other wealthy wives.

What few family traits the Malfoys had easily slipped away. Draco pretended not to notice or care, and had smothered any hurt feelings he might've had in true Malfoy fashion.

He'd moved on.

After he had "died", he'd discovered that the thought of never seeing his parents again came as a relief. _No more disappointment_, he concluded, _from either parties._

In the year that had followed, Draco hadn't thought _very_ much of Lucius and Narcissa. But naturally, there had been a few times when he'd wondered about them. He knew Lucius was alive in Azkaban, and that was pretty much all there was to know. Narcissa, however, he wasn't too sure about. A year or so ago Pansy had told him that Narcissa had gotten remarried and was now living in some Slavic country. Draco hadn't asked for any more details.

After all, he'd moved on already.

Yet . . . he supposed he still loved her. After all, it was his duty, wasn't it? One had to love one's own mother, no matter what.

And now Pansy was telling him that his mum was coming. She was coming to Pansy's flat that very day and he hadn't had any warning. He wasn't sure how this made him feel, and because he was unsure, he was seething.

"She'll be here any minute," Pansy said primly.

"And you're just telling me now," Draco said, eerily calm.

"We just found out about it ourselves last night," said Blaise, ignorantly. "I don't know how they heard about The Plan, but they want to help us with it."

"Who's _they_?"

"You'll see," Pansy jumped in before Blaise could answer. They shared a knowing look.

Draco gripped the armrests of his chair. Was he a part of this Plan or not? Why did they continue to do things behind his back? If they wanted his help, they would have to _include_ him. Especially if the topic was about his own _mother._

He gritted his teeth and didn't voice his thoughts. He didn't trust himself to speak. His emotions were swirling in him and he couldn't get a grasp on them. He couldn't get control. _Fury_. That was the dominant feeling. But there was also anxiousness. Not quite nervousness, not quite fear. Just _anxiousness._

"You're angry," Pansy stated abruptly. She was studying his face with a tiny smile.

He narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth to snap a reply. But there came a sharp knock on Pansy's door, and he felt an unpleasant jolt somewhere in his stomach.

"They're here," she said quietly, and rose slowly.

_They_ had clearly Apparated. Though Pansy's flat was charmed to block Apparating and Disapparating, _they_ had simply done so right outside the building.

Draco remained seated. Heard the door open, heard Pansy say hello, heard a soft reply, heard it shut again. Then footsteps . . . the soft patter of Pansy's bare feet, the click of heels on marble. And then Pansy and the newcomer (there was no _they_, he noticed instantly – there was only one) were standing in the living room doorway, one dark and short, one light and tall.

Draco swept his eyes over Narcissa, noting the slight changes. She had wrinkles in the corner of her eyes. Her hair was shorter yet still as blond as ever. She wore an expensive-looking Muggle dress that revealed attractive, youthful legs.

He stood up, wishing he didn't feel so awkward in his own mother's presence. She stared at him, primly, expression blank and mouth set straight.

After a beat, she stepped into the room, graceful in heels, and floated towards him. "Draco," she said in her soft, cultured voice, "say hello to your old mother, dear."

"Hello, Mum," he said, somewhat stiffly. He took her hands in his and kissed both her cheeks. Her skin was cold and appeared as fragile as porcelain.

She was exactly his height, even with an inch added in her heels. She gripped his hands so he wouldn't pull away and studied him.

"You're older," she told him huskily, and something about the way she said it reminded him of why he'd tried so hard to please her.

He wasn't sure how to reply. "You're not," he said after a beat, and gave a faint smile. It was the truth. Even with the wrinkles around her eyes, she looked no older than thirty-five.

She gave him one of her calculated smiles, the one she gave to strangers who held the door open for her and to the waiters who poured her wine. Then she dropped his hands and glanced over at Pansy.

"Pansy, darling," she said, a bit louder so as to be heard, "would you and Blaise mind giving my son and me some privacy?" She looked back up at him. "We have a lot to talk about."

"Certainly. We'll be outside if you need us," Pansy replied.

A moment later, the door slammed. Draco and his mother were the only ones in the flat.

She simply scanned his face in silence, and he didn't speak or look away. He wasn't sure what he had to say to her. He wasn't sure how he felt about her. There was love there, but there was also disappointment, and anger. Draco had never realized he was bitter at the thought of not having a proper mother.

"So, sweetheart," Narcissa said, moving away from him. She tucked her skirt under her thighs and sat down on the sofa, smoothly crossing her legs. "Tell me why you have pretended to kill yourself."

Draco sat as well, placing an elbow on the armrest and leaning on it. The oddness of his mother's statement struck him as almost funny, but he didn't have the urge to smile. "I didn't want to go to Azkaban," he answered simply, his tone short and aloof.

"Naturally, that is understandable," she replied with a slight inclination of her head. "But why let Pansy know of your actual status, and not your own mother?"

Draco frowned. He couldn't very well say, "Well, Mum, I just wanted to get away from you for good." He couldn't explain to her why he needed to escape her, why above all the love, all the resentment, and all the dissatisfaction, there was hate. He couldn't tell her that he loathed her more than he loathed Lucius, that he hadn't expected affection from his father, hadn't needed it, but he'd needed it from her.

He couldn't tell her this because it would change nothing.

"I don't know," he said instead. It was one of the weakest things he could've uttered, but he couldn't think of anything else. He changed the course of the discussion before she could press more questions. "How did you find out I was alive?"

"Pansy contacted me," she replied, breaking eye contact and wiping at something on the sofa cushion. "Asked for my help."

And suddenly Draco knew why Pansy and Blaise had been gone all day Tuesday. While hunting information on the blueprints, they'd also been talking with his mother. "Why?" he demanded sharply.

Narcissa pressed her lips together and looked up. "Don't sound so irritated, Draco," she ordered. "It's unbecoming."

He ignored her. After such a long absence, it was almost easy to do. "Are you helping us with The Plan?"

"Yes, I suppose you could say that," she said. "I won't be helping much with the actual event, so to speak, but I'll aid you in the planning aspect."

Draco's frown deepened. Why did Pansy think they needed more help? Was it because she was afraid Draco would be too distracted by Weasley? If so, then she must have contacted Narcissa sometime _after_ Tuesday. Pansy wasn't worried about Weasley until Thursday, when she saw the two of them spending time together at the villa.

Or maybe Narcissa _was_ there to get on his case about being with Weasley, not to help with The Plan. He wanted to groan at the thought. Pansy was horrible enough. But if his mother started badgering him, he wasn't sure he'd be able to hold out. He was too used to listening to her wishes.

"I would like to see Lucius again," she said, suddenly gentle, bringing his attention back to her. "I do miss him."

Draco tried not to dwell on the fact she hadn't mentioned she missed _him_. "I thought you were remarried," he said, sharply.

Narcissa lifted her left hand and smiled dimly at the diamond on her third finger. Draco could tell it was gigantic even from his view across the room. "Ah, Havard," she said, almost fondly. "Rich, intelligent, and handsome."

_But not Lucius, right, Mum?_

"Is he dead?" he blurted.

She looked up, startled. Then she gave a tiny, tinkling laugh. "Oh, no. We're just going through a divorce now. As soon as Pansy told me she wanted to free the prisoners from Azkaban, I told Havard it was over."

Now Draco was confused. If Pansy had contacted Narcissa _after_ Thursday, that obviously would only leave Friday. Had she told her current husband just the day before that she wanted a divorce?

Well, it was possible. But the way she spoke of it made him think she'd been going through a divorce longer than twenty-four hours.

_When does it matter when Pansy contacted her?_ he found himself wondering. _The point is, she did. _

"Look, Mum," Draco said, shifting in his seat. "I don't know what Pansy's told you about The Plan, but −"

"Oh, just about everything," Narcissa cut in smoothly. "I know nearly as much as you do."

Draco's brows furrowed. "If Pansy wanted your help with the planning, then why did she wait so long to get in touch with you? It's almost finished. You're not much help to us now."

Narcissa's eyes darkened. "Don't you want me here, Draco?"

He tried not to squirm uncomfortably under her narrowed gaze. "I'm just confused −"

"Pansy didn't contact me sooner simply because she didn't know I was interested in helping," Narcissa interrupted, her light voice now sharp and cool. "It was my sister who discovered what you three have been up to."

"_Sister_?" Draco's puzzled look only deepened. Did his mother have a sister? Suddenly he couldn't remember. . . .

And then an image flashed in his mind. He was six, and he was in Azkaban prison during visiting hours. His insides felt like they'd turned to ice and a tall woman who was the reverse image of his mother was peering down at him. Heavy-lidded eyes flickered over him and the full, pale mouth curved into a sneer.

_"He's short, Narcissa. He'll be weak."_

His Aunt Bellatrix.

Could his aunt be the other half of the obscure _they _he kept hearing about?

"Yes," Narcissa said as if answering, her dark mood slowly lightening. She relaxed against the sofa cushions. "My sister. I believe you remember Bellatrix?"

Oh yes, he remembered her. He remembered her pincher-like hands that gripped his upper arms and shook him when he didn't answer her questions quickly enough. He remembered her midnight eyes that had the lifeless look of Azkaban in them. He remembered being utterly terrified of her.

She'd been in Azkaban all his young life. During his fourth year she'd escaped. No, he realized, it was during his fifth year. Maybe his sixth? No matter when; past that point he didn't have much of a clue what had happened to her. The imprisonment of his own father had occupied his thoughts, and when Voldemort had freed all the Death Eaters before the Second War, he hadn't heard anything more about his aunt. She'd faded from his memory by then.

"I remember her," said Draco finally. "Didn't she die?"

Narcissa tilted her head back and laughed, genuinely amused. "Oh, Draco, my dear, she _did_ die," she said, clearly pleased. "But don't make the haughty error of thinking that _you_ are the first one to come up with the idea to fake your own death."

* * *

Bellatrix Lestrange was like the black mirror image of her sister Narcissa. Beautiful in a dark, dangerous way. Strong, elegant features, and tanned flesh that resembled murky cream. Hair that was dark, long, and straight, with every strand perfectly in place. Black eyes that were wide and held a vast ocean of hidden thoughts and guarded secrets. A voice that, when calm, was low and throaty, but when angered flared into something high-pitched and screaming, like the fury of a lightning storm.

When Pansy and Blaise came back to the flat twenty minutes later, Bellatrix was with them. She did nothing more than nod in Draco's direction when she walked in. Draco couldn't help but feel like all the warmth had been sucked from the room, much like it did when a dementor was present. He held back a shudder.

She said in her deep and commanding tone, "Let's sit at the table."

Wordlessly, the four others followed her into Pansy's dining room. They took a seat at the small table, and for the next couple of beats, no one spoke.

Draco studied his aunt with a profound interest he masked over with boredom. Narcissa had told him all about how Bellatrix had supposedly died, and he couldn't deny that he found the entire story highly intriguing.

He didn't know much about Bellatrix, but he did know for certain that she was a Death Eater. Such a thing would condemn anyone to a life in Azkaban prison. In fact, most Ministry men were eager to legalize the Dementor's Kiss, which had been banned in recent years, just to use on her.

To evade her inevitable destiny, she had escaped Ministry capture for nearly two days after the Minister of Magic had declared all Death Eaters to Azkaban without trial. Soon after, Ministry officials discovered her hiding place, and she, not knowing what else to do, had run on foot. They chased her to the Lombert Bridge, an ancient structure in southern Scotland that had been built by magic (and remained upright only by magic) during the first documented ages of wizardry.

She had been surrounded there, watching as her capturers came in closer and closer until the only way to flee was by jumping over the edge. In the middle of January, the Lombert River was a few degrees shy of freezing, and the height at which the bridge stood guaranteed instant death to any unfortunate jumper. Bellatrix stood in the semi-circle of Aurors and vengeful wizards from nearby villages, seemingly trapped. When an eager official had shouted out the Killing Curse, every spectator on the bridge had _sworn_ on their lives that the burst of green light struck Bellatrix Lestrange, cutting her shrill scream in half. They had all _sworn_ that they watched as her lifeless body crumpled over the side, and several were _certain_ they heard the splash as she hit the icy, swirling waters below.

Her body was never found. But all the newspapers had the same headline the next day: _Dark Lord's Trusted Death Eater Killed_.

Bellatrix had never been hit by the Killing Curse. The aim had already been slightly off, but had she not jolted aside at the very last moment, the beam of green would have struck her right arm instead of singeing the very edge of her cloak and striking the metal railing behind her in a blinding flash. After the light died away, there was a hushed quiet, and pitch black as every eye trained on her adjusted to the sudden lack of light. . . and she'd done the only thing she could have.

She climbed over the side.

She hadn't leapt; she had simply gripped the railing, lifted her legs over, and eased herself down the side of the bridge, all within one fluid movement. Then, as life came back to the crowd above her and cheering could be heard, she gripped the supports underneath and held on numbly. Her shoes, which she'd clumsily slipped on when she'd run from her hiding place, slid off her feet and splashed gently below. When heads tilted over the side, no one saw her dangling directly beneath. All anyone saw were the churning black waters, convinced it had already swallowed their target into its depths.

The Ministry, however, decided to take no chances. A few minutes later, several officials had assembled on the banks of the river, scouring the underside of the bridge and the surrounding woods. But by then it was too late. Bellatrix had made her way along the bridge, rung by rung, before she climbed back up the side. The few men that remained on the bridge had been busy congratulating themselves and never noticed a figure landing neatly beside them. She had pulled up her hood to shadow her face, and joined them. They spoke to her, never seeing her face or her bare feet and assuming her a nearby villager, and she spoke back, returning congratulations and gratitude.

Bellatrix then left the country and hid herself in a remote town in Russia. She had done everything properly; she knew no one from England would ever visit the town, and if they did, in such a tiny, close-knit village she would hear about it beforehand and could be prepared. She'd altered her appearance, anyhow, and if any Russian had heard of her, they would not be able to recognize her.

Draco had made the mistake of living in a busy city where _anyone_ could recognize him. A mistake he wasn't going to be repeating ever again. However, he had to admit he was quite fond of his current appearance, and the notion of changing it had occurred to him only to be dismissed.

"It is fortunate I found you in time," Bellatrix said abruptly, causing Draco to jerk back to earth. She switched her gaze from Blaise, to Draco, and then to Pansy, unreadable thoughts dancing in her eyes. "Very fortunate," she added quietly.

"We're glad to have more help," Pansy said neutrally. "We're almost ready to bring all the planning together and put everything in action. We'll need you for that, Bellatrix."

_Then what's Mum going to do?_ Draco wondered. He was starting to feel frustrated, mostly by the random appearance of his mother and her sister. Why did he have such a . . . an _unsettling_ feeling about the two?

A firm voice answered for him. _Because you don't trust them_. _You don't trust what their intentions are._

Yes, he was in awe of his aunt. Yes, he loved his mother. But there was just something not entirely wholesome about their objectives.

It was odd, he realized, to think he trusted Pansy more than his mother. But Pansy had proved herself to be reliable, while Narcissa had proved herself to be a disappointment.

"Naturally," Bellatrix replied to Pansy's statement. Her expression was smooth and blank, but he could hint some strange excitement in her tone. His unease rippled and deepened. "I don't know how you ever thought you could achieve such a feat with just the three of you. You'll need Narcissa's strong head andmy power to get what you want."

_Humble_, Draco smirked.

"Yes, that's why I've called on you," Pansy said with a trace of impatience. She turned to Narcissa. "We'd like you to look over the blueprints for us, Narcissa. Blaise and I have already analyzed them and we have a vague idea of the best entryway, but it would be nice to have your opinions on the matter."

"Certainly, Pansy," Narcissa said with the smile she bestowed upon strangers.

Pansy gave out more instructions to Blaise and Draco, and before long, they were all hard at work. All, that is, except for Bellatrix. The blueprints were placed on the table, and they debated the best way to enter, the best way to leave, and the places to avoid. And Bellatrix simply watched in silence, a peculiar smile on her face.

_Something's not right,_ Draco found himself thinking. _This can't be how it's supposed to go. . . ._

He ordered his mind to shut up. What did he know about how this was _supposed_ to go? He should be relieved that they had extra help. He would be able to focus more on Weasley and keeping her away from it all.

But he felt no relief. All he felt was perturbed.

_What's going _on?

* * *

Ginny really hadn't planned on using Penelope's _or_ Maili's help again. But after deciding that afternoon that she wanted to show up at Draco's house and take him out on the town, she had spent two hours trying to decide what to wear. She had deemed all of her clothes too conservative, too boring, and too informal. She wanted something new, something that would attract his attention and whet his appetite.

And she thought, _Surely Penelope would have something like that._

She knocked on Penelope's door and was greeted by a bored face. The minute Penelope recognized Ginny, her lips twisted into a smirk of a nature not too different from Draco's.

"Well, well, well," she said, crossing her arms and leaning against the doorframe. "Look who it is. Back from Greece already?"

Ginny forced a friendly smile. "Yes. I've come to ask you a favor."

Penelope raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Come on in."

Ginny stepped in to the dark room, taking note that the curtains were tightly closed and the bed was neatly made. In fact, _everything_ was neat. She saw a trunk open on the floor beside the wardrobe, containing smoothly folded clothes stacked on top of each other. Other than that, there was not any hint that a human being inhabited the space.

"Wow, it's really . . . clean," Ginny admitted, feeling far more out of place than she had in Maili's room. She stood awkwardly by the bed, unsure if she should stay up or take a seat.

"I'm kind of anal," Penelope replied with a slow grin. She remained near the door, hands on her hips. "So what's this favor you need?"

"Oh," Ginny said, startled back into work related thoughts. "I was sort of hoping you could . . . well, dress me."

_Tactful, Weasley_.

Penelope's grin turned all-knowing. "I see," she drawled. "So it turns out my little bikini-wearing stunt went over well?"

Ginny was glad for the pale light; it hid her flushed cheeks. "I'm sorry, I left the bikini back in my room," she said by way of answering. "I can go get it now −"

Penelope shook her head. "No, keep it. I have plenty more." She moved deeper into the room, throwing open the wardrobe doors. "Let's see . . . what kind of look are you going for?"

Ginny took a delicate seat on the edge of the bed. "Well, something that's not too conservative, but not too revealing either," she began, and her voice gathered strength as she went on. "Something Muggle enough to pass off in the city. Something that's not too expensive so I won't have to worry about ruining it. Preferably something without a skirt, because that's all I've worn around him. And I'd like something with color, but not too much, because I don't want to hurt his eyes −"

Penelope stared at her for a moment, amused, before jumping in. "Okay, slow down. This isn't some store where I can just make the outfit of your dreams appear." She allowed a smile break through her haughty demeanor. "You must really like this guy."

Ginny stiffened. "I don't have to like him," she said defensively. "I have to impress him. My job depends on it −"

"Okay, okay, calm down," Penelope said with a small laugh. "I didn't mean to set you off. Why don't you come and take a look at what I've got, and I'll let _you_ dress yourself. Is that all right?"

Ginny was discovering that this girl reminded her more and more of Draco. Penelope had the ability to infuriate her and rub her the absolute wrong way, all while barely saying anything of offense. The one thing she lacked was the gift of giving Ginny one look and having her melt all over the floor in a puddle of desire . . .

_Not that Draco does that, either._

Ginny spent the next few minutes rummaging through Penelope's clothes. She made a fine mess of them, but Penelope didn't appear to notice or care. She sat on the bed, flipping through a magazine to keep her occupied.

Eventually, Ginny stood up with an armful of clothing. "Well, thanks so much, Penelope," she said, already heading towards the door. "I'll be sure to give these back to you sometime tomorrow −"

"Whoa, whoa," Penelope called, sitting up and setting her magazine aside. "Where's the fire? Let me see what you've picked out."

Ginny, who was very satisfied with her selections and ready to try them on in the privacy of her own room, shrugged indifferently. "Oh, just a pair of jeans, and one of your white blouses −"

But Penelope was already laughing at her. She slowly slid off the bed, chuckling as though Ginny had said some clever joke.

"What?" she snapped, feeling a bit miffed.

"Jeans and a white blouse? Ginny, darling, you don't want to dress like an old _lady_," she cried.

"I wasn't," Ginny said defensively. "As a matter of fact, I was going to leave the top three buttons of this blouse _unbuttoned_!"

Penelope laughed again, harder this time. "Oh, you're a wild woman for sure, Ginny Weasley!" she said, clapping her hands in delight.

"All right, look," Ginny said, bordering on angry now. "I appreciate you letting me borrow your clothes, but I won't let you sit there and make fun of me and laugh −"

"You're right," Penelope said, pressing her lips together tightly and fighting away her giggles. "You're right, I'm sorry. I really am. Just go into the bathroom and put the blouse and jeans on. When you come out, I'll let you try on some things that will . . . liven it up. Okay?"

Ginny fumed for a moment, her intelligent half telling her it would be best if she just turned and let the door hit her arse on the way out. She didn't need to let Penelope berate her on her style. She was stronger than that, more confident than that.

But her stupid half kept screaming, much louder than the smarter half, _She knows how to seduce men, Ginny. Let her dress you._

And so Ginny didn't leave, but she stepped into the toilet and put on the blouse – which fit her perfectly – and the jeans – which needed to be made a size or so bigger – and studied her reflection in the mirror. Even with the top three buttons undone, the outfit looked awfully plain. _Even _I_ have this sort of _dull_ thing in my _dull_ wardrobe_, Ginny realized, and, more annoyed with herself now than Penelope, stepped out to let the other woman work her magic.

No pun intended.

Penelope took one look at Ginny and seemed to know exactly what was needed. Five minutes later Ginny had on a lightweight black jacket and a pair of bright green pointy shoes that just about _killed_ her toes. Not only had Penelope unbuttoned the top _four_ buttons on the blouse, but the bottom two as well. With the jeans resting low on her hips, Ginny flashed a bit of midriff whenever she shifted the right way.

"Leave your hair down," Penelope instructed, circling Ginny to admire every angle. "That sort of wild, un-brushed look is what you're going for."

Ginny had to admit that the added touches did improve the outfit. In fact, she began to feel a little giddy as the date approached. She actually giggled like a teenager when Penelope made dirty jokes about what was going to happen later that night. It was just like she was drunk again; she couldn't find it in her heart to be irritated with Penelope at the time being.

But as time ticked on, nearing seven o'clock, she found she was growing tenser and tenser. _It's time to go_, she realized. "Well, I suppose I'd leave," Ginny said out loud.

"All right, then," Penelope replied, giving a wide grin. "Good luck tonight, huh?"

Ginny put her hand on the door knob. "Yeah, I'll need it," she said. "Thanks again for, you know, letting be borrow your clothes."

"My pleasure." Penelope wiggled her fingers in goodbye from her perch on the bed. "Have fun!"

Ginny let out a laugh, and all at once it hit her how apprehensive she really was. "Thanks."

She stopped by her room to grab her Muggle purse, and then headed outside into the cool night. She had already decided she wanted to take a taxi to Draco's flat. She needed some time to rehearse what she was going to say to him. Besides, she wanted to spend as much of the money Creedmoore had given her as possible.

All afternoon she'd considered what she and Draco would do that night. Her mind ran over the possibilities of going to _tapa_ bars, of experiencing Madrid's nightlife with him . . . and she had discarded them. She'd already been out on the town with Draco, and he was somewhat of a bore when it came to that sort of thing. What she needed was a novel idea; something that he would actually _like_ to do.

She knew he liked to eat. And she knew he liked to stay home – he always seemed in a hurry to get back there when he was out with her, after all.

So she would surprise him on his doorstep . . . and make him dinner right in his very own flat.

This idea had more merit than spending a wild night out did. For one, they could be alone. She could astound him with her stunning personality, so much so that he wouldn't be able to resist taking her to bed and falling in love with her. And for another, she could slip the Truth Potion she'd concocted in Greece into his glass of wine. It would be so much easier to do in the privacy of his home.

She flagged down a taxi, slid in the backseat, and told the driver (with aid of her Spanish dictionary) to stop at the nearest grocery store. Once she had bought everything she needed to make the_ perfect_ filet mignon dinner, she continued onwards to Draco's flat and practiced her greeting over and over in her mind.

She tried to ignore how nervous she felt. Yes, it was typical for her to feel apprehensive before seeing Draco; she always did. There were the usual insecurities: what if she screwed up, gave her true identity away, et cetera. But now she had a new worry to add to her list.

What if she wasn't a good lover?

She knew tonight they would sleep together. And that made her more uneasy than ever before. Draco was clearly a man who had had his share of sex. He knew what was good and what wasn't. What if he found her . . . inadequate?

That would ruin the relationship. Forget hating each other's very existence. Horrible sex would be the ultimate explosive in their already rickety relationship.

Ginny was, naturally, not a virgin. The few men she'd slept with had told her she was good in that specific area. But none of them were Draco. None of them had been critiquing her quite as closely as Draco would.

The taxi pulled to a stop before Draco's flat. Ginny felt as if she had swallowed ten thousand Snitches and they were all raving in her stomach.

"Well," she muttered under her breath, reaching to open the taxi door. "Here goes nothing."

Both arms full of groceries, one hand holding the most expensive bottle of wine the supermarket had, she stepped out of the taxi and made her way to Draco's front door.

* * *

A/N: Note the new rating. Because of aforementioned love scene... 


	13. The Beginning

A/N: So as I swore, I haven't abandoned this fic yet! It's coming, slowly but surely, and the reason this one took so long was because of smut scene. Whoopie.

Enjoy, everyone!

Thanks to Jho, the best beta a girl (or guy) could ask for.

**_Chapter Thirteen_**

**_The Beginning_**

Draco found he was fighting a smile when he pulled open his front door to find Weasley, her arms full of paper bags, standing on the threshold of his flat. After a full afternoon of straining his eyes on blueprints, straining his ears listening to Pansy, and straining his patience with his relatives, a bit of verbal dueling with Weasley was just what he needed.

It was time to put his poor, poor mind to rest. It was time to forget all about Bellatrix and her boggling existence and focus on something… fun. Yes, fun. He was looking forward to this.

_"Well_," Draco drawled, leaning against the doorframe. "Ginny. How did I simply _know_ you'd find me?"

She grinned from between the two paper bags. "I asked around town about you," she explained, and he didn't even bother to keep the amusement out of his expression this time. "Seems you are quite popular with the ladies, Malfoy."

Yes, it was true he'd enjoyed his time in Madrid by seducing some locals. Had she truly asked around? The notion seemed highly unlikely; Ginny was terrible when it came to communicating in Spanish. Maybe she had followed him one night.

Yes, he concluded. That was probably it. Perhaps _that_ was how she knew his plan to go to Greece. She followed him home one time… probably when he'd had the car service, that very first night they met. She'd snuck into his house after their second date and had hidden behind the sofa or something, listening to his, Blaise, and Pansy's conversation about Athens.

_Well, now I know not to have any meetings at my place anymore,_ he thought decisively.

"Are you going to invite me in, or am I going to have to drop this bottle of wine all over your bare feet?" she demanded with mock annoyance.

Draco stepped aside slowly. "Please, Weasley," he said, gesturing dramatically, "do come in."

She hadn't lost her grin. "Thank you," she said, and moved into the flat. "I brought us dinner," she added over her shoulder, already heading for the kitchen.

Yes, Draco noticed. She had been here before.

"Oh?" he said, allowing himself the momentary pleasure of watching how her jeans hugged her rear. "I hope it's something I like."

She dumped the bags on the counter, catching his eyes just as he lifted them. "Even if you don't like filet mignon, you'll love the way I make them."

He leaned against the refrigerator, smirking. "I'm a vegetarian."

She stopped unpacking the bags, shooting him a horrified look. She relaxed in an instant, realizing the lie. "Shut up, Malfoy," she muttered, taking out a huge slab of meat wrapped in plastic.

He studied her for a moment, intrigued. Hmm. She _did_ look mighty appealing in those jeans. Perhaps it was time to get her out of them. And, with the same stone so to speak set off his plan to make her fall heavily for him.

It was time. Time to start seducing her; time to have her stumbling head over heels in love.

He moved up behind her, silently, and traced the thin line of skin showing above her jeans. She jumped a bit, her breath catching in her throat, her unpacking halting once more.

"Couldn't stay away, could you, Weasley?" he breathed in her ear.

She turned in his arms, and he was mildly surprised to see she was smiling lightheartedly. Placing her hands on his hips, she pulled him closer. "No, Draco, I couldn't." With that, she planted a firm kiss on his lips.

She would've pulled away, but he ensnared her mouth with his, turning what originally was a quick peck into a deep, lingering kiss. When she responded easily, running her palms over the front of his shirt, he determined swiftly that yes, indeed, he was keeping Weasley. He would not trade her in for another official even if Pansy paid him a million galleons.

Ginny Weasley was far too much fun.

After a moment or two or three, maybe; in any way, it was too soon Ginny made a noise of protest against his mouth and pushed him away gently. "Hold that thought," she whispered playfully, looking up at him through her lashes. "We eat first." She poked him on the chest and turned back around to the counter.

Draco, slightly taken aback at being rejected, moved away. Well, he _was_ hungry. He could seduce her just as easily over dinner, he supposed.

"So who did you ask about me?" he asked conversationally, taking a seat at his table. Leaning back, he watched her move about the kitchen.

"Oh, everyone I came in contact with, actually," she said breezily, opening random cupboards. "Where do you keep the pots and pans?"

"Underneath the stove," he replied. "Were you that desperate to find me?"

She shrugged before ducking behind the counter, rummaging underneath the stove for the tools she needed. "I've had a good time with you," she said and he was a little upset he couldn't see her expression. "I came to Spain for a holiday and it was rather dull until I ran into you. Besides," she added, straightening into view with a trace of a grin, "it's exciting to be dating someone my entire family thinks is the scum of the earth."

_Or _thought_ was the scum of the earth_._ I'm dead, remember?_ He grinned back easily. "So you're using me to get back at your family?"

"No, not exactly," she insisted, glancing back at him as she washed her hands in the sink. Her mass of red hair, the very hair he used to despise, and was now beginning to take pleasure in flew over her shoulder with the movement. "But I admit, when I tell them that were together the look on their faces will be priceless."

He rubbed his chin absently. "Were together now, are we?"

She dried her hands on a dishtowel. "Please, Malfoy. Try and deny the fact that you're horribly attracted to me."

"All right, I deny it," he said effortlessly.

"Just like you're a vegetarian, right, you twit?" She heaved the dishtowel at him and made a face when he deftly caught it. Turning back to her ingredients, she asked peevishly, "Where are the cutting knives?"

"Second drawer on your left." He paused, watching as she removed a knife from the drawer and began chopping mushrooms. He was somewhat surprised that she was cooking the Muggle way. He lived in a Muggle dwelling, but she _did_ have her own wand, after all. "When are you scheduled to go back home?" he asked after a few moments of silence.

"Whenever I want," she replied. "Within reason, of course. I'm not going to stay a year or anything like that." She threw him a curious glance, but before he could decipher it she was plowing on. "Have you ever considered returning to England?"

Ah. Here it was. She was starting to feel comfortable enough to begin coaxing him back to England. _So it begins_… "Not really," he said. "I spent seventeen years in England. It's time to explore the rest of the world."

"Don't you miss it?" she asked, crossing the room to the fridge and pulling out the butter. "I mean, don't you ever have yearnings to visit Hogwarts or… or Hogsmeade… you know, your childhood haunts.

"That's in Scotland, Weasley, and no, I don't really have any desire to go back," he replied.

"So you're satisfied just cutting all ties with everyone you've ever known and living out here in Spain," she said doubtfully, dumping a good sized slice of butter into the heated pan on the stove. It sizzled as it made contact.

"I haven't cut off all ties," he argued, thinking of Blaise and Pansy. Then, in an ironic attempt to throw her off-guard, he added, "It's not like I've died or anything. I've just moved."

He didn't see her reaction, which disappointed him. She faced away from him as she sprinkled the mushrooms into the pan.

There was a long silence, in which he began to feel uncomfortable. To break it he demanded abruptly, "How long is this going to take?"

"Dinner? It should be ready in a half hour or so. If you'd like to help, it'd go quicker," she said, looking at him pointedly.

"My place is not in the kitchen," he said, and to demonstrate his point, stood up to leave.

"Where are you going?" she inquired as he passed her. She held out an arm to block his path. "Not so fast, Malfoy. You're not going to sit in the next room while I slave over your dinner."

"Hey," he said, grabbing her wrist to move it out of his way, "you're the one who wanted to make me dinner."

"Yes, but the least you can do is stay and _talk_ to me," she snapped, though her eyes seemed to be dancing. She wrenched her wrist free and pointed to the kitchen table. "Now pour us a glass of wine, will you? And stay a bit."

He obeyed her, not because she said so, but because he realized he couldnt do a lot of seducing while he sat in the other room and stared stupidly at the wall.

He poured her a glass of wine, but none for himself; he had no interest in getting the least tipsy, lest he say something he shouldn't. When she saw he had no glass, she gave him a startled look. "Are you now a virtuous non-drinker, too?" she asked incredulously.

"No," He took his original seat at the table. "You just bought cheap wine."

"Oh, don't be such a wanker, Malfoy!" she said exasperatedly.

"Am I not allowed to not drink if I don't want to?"

"Well, yes, but its rude not to drink if someone brought it for you as a present," she said sternly, sounding for all the world like a professor.

"Then Ill drink it later," he said with a shrug. "What's the hurry? You're staying the night, aren't you?"

He delighted in the flush that spread over the tops of her cheeks. Combined with the somewhat sly grin that graced her lips, she looked irresistible. It was startling to discover that a Weasley could be such a charmer.

"Well, I didn't come for just dinner, if that's what you mean," she answered in a mysterious way, though there was no mystery in what she meant.

After another lengthy pause, this one not as awkward, Ginny piped up again with another story from her childhood. At first Draco found it quite random, but it had something to do with her eldest brother and a bewitched filet mignon so it had some prevalence.

Finally, twenty minutes later, the delicious smells making his stomach rumble, they sat down at Draco's kitchen table for dinner. Ginny frowned at the surroundings, clearly upset at the lack of romance, and asked if he had any candles.

He was mildly offended. "Ginny, how many times must I remind you I'm living here as a Muggle?"

"Even Muggles have candles, Draco," she said dryly. She pulled out her wand and swished it, dimming the electrical lights.

"Not heterosexual males," he muttered, plopping a steak onto his plate.

"So I understand that you don't miss England," Ginny began, serving herself as well. "But what about magic? Don't you miss that?"

He had done a minimal amount of magic in the past few days, but he still lived like a Muggle, and it was hard. To put it delicately. Muggles had a rotten lifestyle. "Not so much," he lied as nonchalantly as possible. "I do a little magic now and then. Summoning Spells are a necessity, no matter how you live."

She smiled, and asked no more questions. Instead, she stood up and went back to the counter, probably to check on the bread warming in the oven. Draco took the opportunity away from her prying eyes to take a bite of her filet mignon, which smelled divine but odors could be deceiving. He chewed slowly, and nearly groaned out loud… yes, it would seem Ms. Weasley was something of a goddess in the kitchen.

"How is it?" she asked, looking over her shoulder at him.

"Edible," he relented, his mouth full.

She laughed, returning to the table with two glasses of wine. "My mum taught me well," she said lightly, placing one in front of him.

The mention of mothers made Draco's stomach lurch and nearly ruined the tastiness of the food. Nearly. Hurrying to get off the subject, he gave her one of his devastating smiles. "If you're as good in bed as you are in front of the stove, Weasley, then I may just agree to see you on a regular basis."

She raised her eyebrows. "Why, thank you, Draco," she said mockingly. "That's very kind of you."

"I'm a kind man," he said agreeably.

And again, it seemed they had run out of things to talk about. The next few minutes passed in a lull of conversation; the only sounds being the scrape of forks on plates and the occasional smacking noise when Ginny opened her mouth while chewing.

Then, Ginny leaned back in her chair, patting her stomach and yawning simultaneously. "I'm done," she declared.

Draco took the last bite of his third helping and decided he, too, had had enough. Any more and he would probably explode, which, Muggle or wizard, was never a good thing.

"You honestly don't like the wine, Draco?" asked Ginny, nodding at his full glass. Hers was nearly empty.

He had barely even registered that it was in front of him. With a shrug, he replied, "I didn't try it. I'm not in the mood."

"Oh, come on, just _drink_ it," she said with an unusual amount of passion. "It won't kill you."

Unable to stop himself, he lifted an eyebrow. Now he was getting suspicious. Just what was so important that he had to drink the wine?

_Probably wouldn't be a good idea to drink and find out_, he decided swiftly. "I don't know, Weasley, I was always taught to respect my body and never give in to peer pressure," he said with a smirk.

Her eyes frosted over. "Well, fine," she said coolly, standing up with empty plate in hand. "I guess if you can't be polite enough to drink my wine, I don't have to be polite enough to stay for sex."

Draco managed to make his chuckle sound like a cough. Now he was glad he hadn't drank any of it; clearly, there was something in it she wanted him to ingest. Perhaps a Truth Potion. _Very wise, Draco,_ he congratulated himself.

He stood up and followed her around the kitchen. "You're not angry," he chided.

She dropped her dishes in the sink and whirled around, meeting his eyes directly. "Oh, aren't I?"

"I'm the one who should be angry," he said, staring down at her. "Why are you pushing it so hard? Are you trying to poison me, Weasley?"

She made an exasperated face. "Don't be stupid, Draco."

"I'm not being stupid, Ginny," he retorted, keeping a straight face. She looked serious _he_ needed to stay serious. "I'm being cautious. I have every right to be, don't I? You come into my life, after so many years of hating and despising me, and beyond any reason I can make out, you make a strong effort to continue seeing me. It doesn't make much sense in my mind."

Her eyes continued to flame. "If you must know _I'm attracted to you_. You think this is easy? You think that I _like_ being attracted to filth like you?"

His amusement was beginning to fade. "Quite a paradox, Weasley," he said, his tone a tad more icy. "You hate being attracted to me. You work against nature to see me. I'm not making a connection, and I assure you it's not because I'm being stupid."

She stared back at him through narrowed eyes and he could sense she was truly angry. How in the world he had angered her so quickly he didn't know, but somehow he had.

He was one hell of a seducer.

"It's complicated, all right?" she demanded.

Jesus, he couldn't do this. He couldn't woo her with idiotic, meaningless words as he had so many other women. Weasley wasn't other women she wouldn't fall for it.

Oh hell. He just needed to quit thinking.

She made a move to get around him, but he stopped her. Pinned her against the counter. Turned off his brain. "Weasley," he said, and he knew it was the sudden gentleness in his voice that had her face relaxing. "Stay for a bit."

He put a hand to the side of her head and stroked her hair with his thumb. She was staring at him, he could feel her eyes, but he avoided her gaze, concentrating instead on her forehead. He brushed his lips over it, feeling her breath, warm and quickening, on his throat.

This he could do. He could seduce her through silence through kisses, touches, pleasures. Neither of them needed to say anything.

With his eyes closed, he tilted her face towards his and found her lips easily. The kiss he gave her was gentle, kind. Her mouth was warm and moist, and he marveled for a moment at how simple it was to kiss her. It was so effortless to lose himself in her, in the closeness of her.

Later, he would realize that this moment should've been the exact moment he put an end to all of it. He should have pulled away and marched her directly out the door.

But he didn't do anything of the sort.

He led her to his bedroom; it was a relief that she didn't speak. If she had spoken, maybe the spell would've been broken. Maybe the following days and the following trouble never would've occurred.

But she didn't say a word.

Draco was not nervous. He was anxious. He had not realized until that very moment how much he wanted to take Ginny Weasley. Had not let himself think such a thing, because before tonight it had seemed so horribly low to crave her. Now it seemed perfectly reasonable; perfectly acceptable.

Ginny entered the room first and was facing him after he shut the door. She stood in the streetlight that pooled in through the light curtains, but he could not read her face. He decided that he didn't want to.

He captured her mouth once more, kissing her more deeply than before. Her hands went to his shoulders, her palms running over them and down his back. The kiss quickened, became more frantic.

"The bed," he said ruggedly.

She nodded, agreeing, and pulled him to the bed. He practically fell on top of her, and she giggled in his ear. Lifting himself onto his elbow, he stared down at her. "There's no need to be rough, Weasley," he muttered, and before she could reply he was kissing her again.

After only a moment, his lips trailed off and pressed against her cheek, her jaw, her neck. He could hear her breathing, more and more ragged, in his ear, and brought his hands to the bottom of her shirt. It was a blouse, but he did not bother to unbutton it… he slipped his hands under, trailing his fingertips along the skin of her belly. She made a strange noise, and when he lifted his head at her quizzically, he saw her smiling and realized it had been a strangled sort of laugh.

"Tickles," she explained briefly.

His hands reached her bra, and he cupped both breasts through the lacy material. No longer was she smiling. He pushed the garment up and felt the bare skin, and she let out a breath loudly, her eyes closed. Her nipples were already hard and he brushed his thumbs over them, gently, and felt her jerk beneath him.

"Draco," she moaned, "Draco, I think…"

"Shh," he said quietly, removing his hands only to unbutton her shirt. "Don't think."

She was silent, and it was an agonizing few seconds for the two of them as he worked to rid her of her top. Eventually the blouse fell open, and he reached to unclasp her bra. He leaned back down and captured her mouth, unable to keep his tongue from roaming over her two bottom teeth, the two that slightly overlapped. He lifted her up, still kissing her, and helped her shrug out of her shirt. The bra was next, and then he could feel her naked breasts pressed against his chest, wishing for the life of him that he wasn't wearing such a thick shirt.

It seemed she was thinking the same thing, for she was already tugging at the bottom of his shirt before he was. He pulled away only for the split second it took to lift the shirt off his head, and together they tossed it across the room.

Slowly. Draco wanted to go slowly and passionately and gently. But already he was losing control of himself, and it seemed Ginny was having similar feelings. His lips left hers once more and planted sloppy kisses down off her chin and along her collarbone. When he captured her right breast in his mouth, she fisted his hair and let out a loud groan, arching against him.

Trousers. He needed to get out of his trousers now. To hell with slow. He sat up, straddling her, and fumbled with his button, his fingers suddenly clumsy. Ginny reached out and unbuttoned it for him, and as she had with his shirt, helped him out of his trousers and underpants.

He moved back down to kiss her, but felt her hands against his chest, pushing him back up. "Get off me," she said huskily.

"What?" He was having trouble thinking straight.

"Get off me, I need to… I've got to get my…"

Clearly, she couldn't think straight, either. He bewilderedly sat up and realized what she meant her jeans were still on. He had been in such a frenzy he hadn't even noticed, even though he could quite feel it now. After all, he _was_ straddling her, completely naked…

_Get a grip, Malfoy_, he thought, trying to shake his head clear. _You're supposed to get Ginny to fall in love with you, not fuck her senselessly._

"Okay," she panted a moment later. "Okay, they're off…"

She grabbed his arm and pulled him back on top of her. Now he could feel the delightful sensation of her breasts against his chest, and he shifted against her, reveling in the sensations. She forced his head down to hers and kissed him hungrily, nipping at his lips before exploring his teeth with her forceful tongue. She squirmed underneath him as he traced the outline of her hips and waist with his fingertips, and he thought that he had quite simply gone mad. All rational thought had left him and he felt only one thing pumping through his veins like blood.

_Need_.

He needed her so intensely he felt like he might burst. And surely he was going to, very soon, even before he could slip inside her. He couldn't remember ever feeling like this before… he had had other women, but none had excited him so thoroughly before, none had taken all his self-control and thrown it out the window. Ginny, he was quickly discovering, was not like any woman he had ever met.

He was not concerned about that now. It didn't matter. He had forgotten that he was supposed to seduce her with incredible lovemaking; he had forgotten that she was a member of the Ministry and would gladly see him behind bars. Right now the only thing that mattered was Ginny, the body and soul, not the mind or profession. Everything else was secondary and petty.

"Draco please," she said through what sounded like gritted teeth. "I need . . ."

She did not need to tell him again. He easily slipped his hardness between her legs and, in one fluid thrust, entered her completely. She let out a cry, clinging to his shoulders, and dropped her head back.

They found a rhythm easily. It was incredible, Draco thought… incredible that they molded so well together, that they fit so perfectly together. If he had known it would be like this, if he had known it would be so… so _good…_ he would have done this the first day they met.

She was making noises in the back of her throat; noises that were driving him mad. His mind had ceased to think. It was just a huge blank, and he felt no warnings, no nudging in the back of it that was trying to caution him. It was right, it had to be and for now that was good enough.

He climaxed first and maybe she did soon after, it was hard to tell. Suddenly he was collapsing against her, out of breath, his heart pounding. He laid there for a moment, trying to gather his scattered thoughts.

He felt her shuddering underneath him, and he thought he might be crushing her. Rolling off onto his back, he stared up at the ceiling, waiting for a rush of emotions to take over him. Guilt. Shame. Regret.

He only felt satisfaction. Immense and extreme satisfaction.

He had done the right thing. Glancing over at her, he saw she, too, was looking directly at the ceiling. And she had a tiny smile on her face.

Draco could hardly hold back his own grin. _She's falling in love with me_, he thought, pleased.

Yes, that much was certain. She was already on her downward spiral, falling headfirst in love with him.

She was well on her way to her doom.

* * *

It was only sex. Scarcely any kissing or foreplay was involved. It was purely and simply _sex_.

Ginny thought this as she lay there into the early hours of the morning, rolled on her side with one arm crooked under her head. The other hand was tangled loosely with Draco's, who lay behind her, his arm draped over her waist. He, too, was on his side, but his body was not touching her back. This distance was another sign that they only had sex.

Not made love.

But she discovered she was oddly content. In fact, she had to fight to stop smiling. Yes, they might not have been touching completely, but it had been Draco who had slipped his fingers through hers before falling asleep.

_We might not have made love_, Ginny thought, biting her lower lip as her mouth continued to curl into a satisfied grin, _but that certainly wasn't mindless sex, either._

She rolled over, still holding his hand, and settled on her other side, facing his sleeping form. The sheet had been thrown over his hips so she could see nothing but the white expanse of his chest and, of course, his expressionless face. Curling her arms to her chest taking his hand along with it she took the opportunity to study him. Asleep, he looked serene and unreal. She had never seen him without a smirk or his eyebrows twisted in a mocking or angry manner. In short, she had never seen him _relaxed._

As she stared, she felt a sudden rush of emotion, of possessiveness. She thought of him in Azkaban, that beautiful face of his thin and gaunt and haunted, and felt her heart jerk. _Never_, her mind said automatically.

Then… _what?__ Ginny, have you gone mad?_

No, she hadn't, she decided. She was just caught in the moment. She was still reeling from the great sex they had, and he looked so innocent and young asleep, she couldn't help herself. Of course she felt protective of him. She was a compassionate person, after all.

Once he opened his mouth, she would snap out of it.

But his mouth was still closed, and for the time being, she could think whatever she wanted. Right now, it was still safe.

She gently rubbed his pinkie finger with her thumb, unaware that a slight frown had replaced her smile. His breathing continued regular and even. "Draco," she whispered, so quiet she was almost mouthing. "What have you been through?"

She reached over with her free hand and touched his eyebrow she couldn't see the scar in the darkness, but she knew it was there. He'd said a jar had exploded. How? Had it been a Potions accident? A Charms lesson gone awry? Or could it perhaps be a scar from his childhood… from an abusive father that had deemed Voldemort more important than family?

She was being silly, she knew… she had no proof Lucius Malfoy had been abusive. If anything, Lucius had been a _good_ father Draco certainly had raved about him back at Hogwarts. But she had a hard time believing that he was a loving man… maybe he hadn't physically hurt his son, but he might've done so emotionally.

"Maybe that's why you're so evil," Ginny murmured, skimming her fingertips over his fine hair. "Maybe you don't know any better."

Draco made a noise in the back of his throat at first, she thought he had woken up. But then he pulled his hand out of hers, shifted, and settled with his arm over his stomach.

She wanted to touch him some more… wanted to feel his smooth skin underneath hers and hear his breathing close to her ear. She wanted to snuggle against him and feel his warmth as she drifted off to sleep… but something in her brain said that it might not be wise; that she should roll over and sleep on her own. She wasn't sure why she thought this, but wondering about it later on in the day she realized she had been frightened by her current thoughts.

Because certainly, angelically asleep or not, thinking warm and tender thoughts about Draco could not be healthy.

* * *

_Sunday, 16 March, 2003_

They made love again that morning. This time it was slow, exquisite, and… Draco thought… perfect.

If she thought she could handle this job, she was sorely mistaken. She was getting far more than she had bargained for.

Afterwards, he made her breakfast. Another touch that she certainly couldn't resist. Every time he caught her eye, she was grinning widely. As he cooked the bacon and sausage on the stove, he couldn't help but think that he could easily get used to seeing her at the table every morning. He had never realized it before, but it was rather lonely waking up to an empty flat.

_This is a perfect arrangement_, he told himself. She thought she was doing her job by spending time with him. Meanwhile he was keeping her out of the way of Pansy and Blaise as well as adding some entertainment to his previously dull existence.

"What are we going to do today?" Ginny asked pleasantly as they began to eat. "I saw you had a television in the other room. We could spend all day binging on sweets and watching Muggle shows"

"I have some errands to do first," interrupted Draco. He had agreed to meet at Pansy's flat later that morning, and he was beginning to regret it. He has to tell Pansy today that he couldn't keep coming to meetings. _I need to keep Weasley occupied._

"Oh? Of what sort?" she asked, politely enough, as she shoved a whole piece of bacon in her mouth.

"You can stay here and wait for me to come back," he said instead of answering.

She raised her eyebrows. "Oh, _can_ I?"

"Or you can go home," he said with a shrug. "I don't care. But I must make it clear… you're welcome back into my bed any time you'd like. And to cook for me."

Pink tinged her cheeks. "That's very generous of you, Draco. What do you have to do today?"

He paused his eating, giving her a narrowed look. "You're very nosy, you know that?"

She grinned with a mouthful of food. "I know," she said gleefully.

"Just boring errands," he replied, knowing she wouldn't give up until he answered. He made up lies rapidly. "I have to head to the bank and check on something."

"Make sure you're still disgustingly rich?" she interrupted pleasantly.

"I beg your pardon," he said in mock offense, glad for the diversion. "There's nothing disgusting about money _or_ yours truly."

She rolled her eyes at him.

A half hour later, he was showered and dressed for the rendezvous at Pansy's. Ginny was still at his kitchen table, wearing his loaned T-shirt, hovering over the Muggle newspaper.

"It's in Spanish, Weasley," he told her, sticking his head in. "In case you haven't noticed."

She stuck her tongue out at him and held up a Spanish-English dictionary. "Ha!" she declared triumphantly.

"Oh, good," he said breezily, "at that rate, you'll be finished with a single article by dinnertime. About the same speed it takes you to read English."

"Go fuck yourself, Malfoy," she said cheerfully.

He chose not to reply to that. "See you in a couple of hours."

Moments later, he had Apparated in front of Pansy's flat. Upon entering her place, he was startled to discover it was deathly quiet. For a second he stood just inside the doorway, straining ears for signs of commotion or speaking. Silence rang in his ears.

Had he gotten the time wrong? Maybe it was at Blaises?

"Hello," he said loudly. He didn't know why it was pointless; there clearly wasn't anyone here.

Well, this was just great. He was certain Pansy had told him half past eleven, her flat… why would they have it anywhere else? Blaise's flat was a mess, plus a lot smaller. And he surely would've known if they were meeting wherever Bellatrix and Narcissa were residing.

It was possible she had said half past _seven_… but he doubted that, too.

They must've changed it, or had gone on some mission without him.

Gritting his teeth in aggravation, he turned to leave.

He saw movement in the corner of his eye and jumped slightly, startled. He glanced to the side and saw Bellatrix, standing in the doorway to the kitchen.

He wasn't sure why the sight of her spooked him. Maybe because she was standing there, arms crossed, face expressionless and unreadable. She didn't say a word.

Draco was relieved to hear his voice was steady. "Where is everyone?" he demanded.

She continued to look directly at him, motionless, for so long he began to feel incredibly stupid. Just when he decided she wasn't going to answer, she lifted her shoulders in a slow, careless shrug. "I told them to leave," she said simply.

And suddenly Draco was very uncomfortable, and it wasn't completely due to the fact that he was alone with a woman who made it her passion to torture people. It was mainly because of her chilling, matter-of-fact tone that declared only one thing. _She was in charge._

"And they listened to you?" he said incredulously. While Blaise wasn't known to put up any resistance, it seemed odd that Pansy, who was fond of saying the entire Plan belonged to her as though it were some possession, would take orders from someone who had just come into the picture.

But then again, it wasn't just anyone. It was Bellatrix. Voldemort's right-hand woman… his favorite of all the Death Eaters.

Bellatrix dislodged herself from the kitchen doorframe and came towards him, moving fluidly and gracefully. Her black silken robes swished faintly at her ankles, the only sound in the room. Draco resisted the urge to take a step back.

She halted before him, her midnight eyes scanning over his face. She was studying him, he realized, and christened the moment as the most awkward of his entire life.

Abruptly, she jerked out a hand and gripped his chin in her fingers, slightly pinching his cheeks to the point that if he puckered his lips, he would resemble a fish. He was so startled he wasn't sure what to do, and as a result remained absolutely still.

"What are you doing?" he asked dully, finding it odd to talk when his cheeks were shoved forward. She didn't acknowledge him; she turned his head to the left, then the right, studying his profile.

Well, he had changed his mind… _this_ had to be the most awkward moment of his life. And having concluded this, his brain snapped back into reality, and he yanked his head back from her hold, reflexively batting her wrist away from him.

She merely sneered, a very unattractive expression. "You have a strong face," she said, in a tone that was far from complimentary. "But your eyes… you are very foolish."

He smirked; he was beginning to feel very perturbed with Miss Bellatrix Black. "Don't ever touch my face again," he said calmly, and turned to leave.

"Wait a moment, Draco, before you go," she called, in such a pleasant tone his interest was snagged. He glanced back at her, her arms once again crossed. But now she had a tiny smile on her face, and her eyes seemed wider, more alert. "Just a bit of advice, if you should feel so inclined to take it," she said mysteriously.

Draco waited, curious.

"Distance yourself from Miss Weasley."

* * *

Ginny was planning on exploring Draco's flat while he was gone, hoping to find some clues as to what he was up to. Or, at the very least, learn a little bit more about him.

However, before she got to rummage through his bedroom, she heard a fluttering noise coming from the next room. Upon entering, she saw there was an envelope on the carpet before the front door, with her name scribbled across it.

Evidently, it was either Ron or Creedmoore answering the letters she had sent out two days before. Crouching down, she scanned the envelope and instantly recognized Ron's handwriting. She had forgotten she had asked them to send the letter to wherever it would get to her quickest. Thank God this had come when Draco wasn't around.

She glanced at the clock. Draco had only been gone ten minutes he probably wouldn't be back for a couple of hours. Collapsing back on the couch, she made herself comfortable and tore the envelope open.

_Dear Ginny,_

_As you can probably imagine, when I first heard you were tracking down Draco Malfoy I was not too happy. In fact, I think that if you have any sense at all, you will come home right now and let someone else do this job. Malfoy is not a good man I would go so far as to say that he's a dangerous man. He never liked me or you, and I know he's going to take out all of his loathing on you. The only thing that's keeping me from retrieving you myself is the fact that this is a Ministry operation, and I have too much respect for my job to be saving your skin when you should know very well that what you're doing is supremely brainless._

_In response to your inquiry of Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson, their records are clean. Zabini's parents were killed back when he was ten years old and he lived with his elderly uncle until he became legal. According to the Ministry, the uncle has never been a You-Know-Who supporter, and as such Zabini was never tied to him. Parkinson's father was sent to Azkaban after the Second War, and died there after the first few months. Her mother wasn't accused of being a supporter, and claimed Pansy wasn't either, so the two of them evaded prison. Pansy's mother lives somewhere near __Liverpool__, and last time anyone checked, Pansy lived with her._

_I hope this helps in some way, and that you'll soon finish up and come home. I don't like the thought of you so far away in the clutches of Malfoy._

_Love,_

_Ron._

Ginny crumpled the parchment and sighed. Of course, Ron had to spend half the letter berating her as if she was three years old and didn't have a brain in her head. _Too bad, Ronald_, she thought, destroying the letter with a wave of her wand. _I'm all grown up now._

* * *

A/N: I really need to get back in the groove of thank yous, but I supposed since this chapter took so long I wouldn't postpone it another day. Next chapter, promise. I really do appreciate all your reviews, they make me so very happy!

Happy holidays.


	14. The Plot Thickens

A/N: Yay for chapter 14! I hope you all can forgive me for my lack of updation . . . or updating, I suppose the saying would go. Updation's kind of a fun word. Anyway, read my profile if you want a little more information on how this story will go. Bottom line: I'm still writing it! Don't abandon me.

Thanks to Jho, who hasn't failed me yet :)

**Chapter Fourteen**

**_The Plot Thickens_**

_Monday, 17 March, 2003_

Draco didn't get a chance to talk to Pansy until the next day. On Sunday, when he'd come back from the "bank", Ginny had insisted they spend all day snuggling on the couch, watching television. There was no proper way to escape her, so he had just waited until she went back to her inn Monday morning.

Ginny hadn't been gone five minutes when he Apparated to Pansy's street. He hurried into her flat without knocking, and to his good luck – which he seemed to be running low on lately – both Pansy and Blaise were there. He'd been anxious to talk to the both of them alone for a few days now. Since the arrival of his mother and Bellatrix, he hadn't had a chance to converse with them privately and he needed to get a few things straight.

Pansy was in the bathroom, touching up on her makeup, and Blaise was, per usual, in the kitchen making himself lunch. They both heard Draco Apparate in, but did not bother to greet him.

Well, if they weren't coming to him, then he'd go to them. He headed to the lavatory and stood in the doorway, watching Pansy apply mascara to her lashes. He thought for a second, of how to begin everything that he needed to say, of what needed to be brought up first, but she beat him to it.

"If you have something to say, then just say it, Draco," she purred.

"I have a lot to say," he replied gruffly. "Come out here." He left her and went into the kitchen, where Blaise was finishing the production of his sandwich. "Zabini, we need to talk," he ordered.

"Let me eat first –" Blaise began.

"No. Come into the living room," he snapped, and turned back to find Pansy already seated on the couch. Blaise came in soon after, a sulky look on his face. "Sit down," he told him, pointing to the spot beside Pansy, and was glad when Blaise obeyed the request. He stood directly in front of them so that he could keep them both in sight at once.

"What is this, Draco?" Blaise asked with raised eyebrows. "I get the feeling you're angry with us." He glanced at Pansy, who met his gaze, and the two of them attempted to hide smiles.

Draco hadn't arrived angry, hadn't intended to be cross with them, but their attitudes were bothering him. The look they shared was the icing on the cake. He had come to discuss things calmly; now he was riled up and would surely lose his temper.

"First," he began in a controlled tone, in an attempt to settle himself, "let's get one thing straight. Am I apart of this Plan, or am I not?"

Pansy had her arms crossed. "Well, Draco, that's up to you," she said, looking up at him with wide eyes. "We thought you were. But it seems like you're getting too caught up in your Weasley to really give us your attention anymore."

Draco clenched his teeth. "I've already told you," he gritted out, "that I'm keeping Weasley from finding out about us all. When she's with _me_, she can't be figuring out anything about The Plan. When I'm away from her, she could be _anywhere_, possibly reporting to the Ministry officials about you two."

Why couldn't they see he was trying to _help_ them? He wasn't keeping Weasley for his own purposes – though it was an added bonus that she was a good lover and he had fun with her – but he was doing it for their sake.

"Then you've answered your own question," Blaise pointed out smoothly. "Yes, you are still apart of The Plan."

"Then I deserve to know what's going on," said Draco resolutely. "My mother told me it was Bellatrix who got them both involved in this. How did you come in contact with her?"

"She found us," Pansy replied.

"How?"

Pansy glanced at Blaise, then shrugged. "We haven't been able to figure that out. One day last week she appeared out of nowhere, claiming she wanted to help us. How could we refuse? We need power like hers, and we needed more help."

Pansy was lying. Draco wasn't sure how he knew that, but it was a nagging feeling in the pit of stomach, and he didn't like it. "Aren't you at least a little suspicious as to how she was able to discover The Plan when none of us, the only ones in the world who know, told her about it?" he asked with narrowed eyes.

"Of course we are," Blaise said loudly. "But what can we do?"

Draco felt like his blood was boiling with frustration. Was he the only one who was finding fault with all this? They were both taking it so acceptingly – so _ignorantly_ – like it wasn't a major issue. But it _was_. Bellatrix had somehow found out about them, about The Plan, and no one knew why. Certainly no one could possible trust her. She was taking over, taking Pansy's position as leader, and the two of them weren't concerned at all.

Did they truly think Bellatrix had their best interests in mind?

"You two have lost your bloody heads," Draco muttered. "Completely _lost it!_" he suddenly shouted, causing Pansy to jolt. "I can't believe how daft you're being. There is something very wrong here, and you're completely ignoring it!"

"Draco, there's no reason to yell," Pansy said, attempting to mollify him. "There's nothing wrong here. Bellatrix is a very powerful woman. There are a number of ways she could have discovered our Plan."

"Like what?" he snarled.

"Well, it's not exactly a heavily guarded secret that you're supposed to be dead, or that you've been discovered alive," Blaise explained in a reasonable tone. "She could've come across some information in the Ministry about you and come to investigate it. Quite simply, much like your Weasley has done, she could've overheard our plans, contacted Naricissa, and made us aware of her presence and desire to help."

"It's not a big surprise that she wants to help us, Draco," Pansy said with a laugh, as if mocking his stupidity. "Once all the prisoners are free, she'll be the next Voldemort. She'll have all the power and prestige that the title brings along."

Draco wanted to shake his head, wanted to tell them he didn't believe that explanation. It seemed reasonable, he supposed, but he didn't think that was right. But they _were_ just speculating, not pretending to know the truth, and they did have a point – Bellatrix _was_ powerful, and could've discovered their Plans with little difficulty.

But even so, it still boggled his mind. Why had she decided to spy on three ex-Slytherins, as though she knew something was going on that she would be interested in?

"What else would you like to know, Draco?" Pansy asked, almost prissily, staring expectantly at him.

He reluctantly tore his mind from one nagging problem to another. There was something else he'd wanted to know, something that he'd been wondering about for the past few days after Pansy had changed the subject. Forcing himself to sound civil, he asked shortly, "In Greece – why didn't you follow me out of the cellar?"

Pansy's eyes darkened. "I thought I told you already," she said with a hint of exasperation. "We needed to make sure the guards didn't come in and –"

"Yes, you told me that already, and I'm not believing it," he said bluntly, tired of her dancing around the point. "When I left the cellar, you two were right behind me; you'd already done all you could to hold off the guards from entering. And even if you _weren't_ done, there would have been a point when you needed to escape the cellar, and it couldn't have been too long after I left. _Furthermore_," he continued, feeling like a lecturer trying to teach an audience his point, "if you were really as concerned about erasing the guards' memories as you seemed to be, considering you were shouting death threats at me if I failed to do so, then you both would have joined me in the stairway. You would have helped me erase those memories; you would have wanted to regroup, because that is what a team _does_."

They both stared at him, Blaise with a pensive look and Pansy with a dark one.

"If you truly wanted to be apart of this _team_, Draco," she said icily, "you would've sent Weasley back to England the minute I suggested –"

"Will you _stop_ it with this Weasley business," Draco exploded angrily. "This isn't about Weasley; this isn't about my aunt, or my mother – this is about _you_, Pansy. About you and, considering he does every little thing you say, about Blaise too. So don't change the subject. Answer my damn _question_."

Blaise stood up threateningly, offended. "Draco, I think you might want to reconsider what you're saying," he said firmly. "You're accusing the both of us of betraying you, when we're the only two in the world you have stood by you. If we had it against you, Draco, why do you think we approached you in the first place? If we had wanted to abandon you in Greece, why do you think we even asked you for your help? And _furthermore_," he spat mockingly, working himself up, "if we were plotting against you, why wouldn't we have turned you over to the Ministry by now? To be honest, at this point we don't even need you. With all the new help we have, you're disposable. . . ."

"Blaise," Pansy cut in smoothly. "Please take a seat."

Both men ignored her. "I'll tell you why you approached me," Draco said, matching Blaise's vehemence. "Because you needed my help. And why you abandoned me in Greece? I can't tell you; that's what I'm trying to figure out. Maybe you felt then that you didn't need my help anymore, so you left me to sink or swim, but let me tell you something. I may not be any help with The Plan, but right now I'm the only thing keeping you two from Ministry scrutiny. Weasley knows about you both. Once I'm taken care of, she's going to focus her attention on you both – because put simply, it's a crime to be fraternizing with the enemy."

"We can take care of Weasley," replied Blaise coldly. "We can take care of everything; you, on the other hand, are just –"

Draco was eager to hear what he had to say, despite the fury and loathing he suddenly felt for his former companion. However, Pansy was quick to interject.

"Will you shut up? Both of you!" she cried, jumping to her feet. She placed her tiny frame between the two of them, both glaring at each other over the top of her head. "Fighting is going to get us nowhere. We started this together, just the three of us, and it's not going to end without us. _All_ of us. So just _shut up_."

"Fine," Draco said, never removing his narrowed eyes from Blaise's burning ones. "I have nothing more to say."

"Yeah," Blaise sneered. "Me neither."

* * *

_Saturday, 22 March, 2003_

"I can't believe it," said Maili, hitching Kevin higher up on her hip. "Honestly, Ginny, I can't believe you did it."

Ginny grinned, clasping her trunk closed. Straightening, she ran her eyes over her room one last time, making sure she'd left nothing lying out. "I'm having trouble believing it, myself," she admitted. "But it's happened."

She was moving in with Draco. After a week of spending every night at his flat, and spending most days with him, he had finally mentioned nonchalantly that she should bring her stuff over.

This was a good thing. Draco obviously wanted her around all the time, and that meant he was a step closer to becoming hopelessly attached to her. A few more weeks of this and _bam_ – she would be Hit Witch and relaxing back in England without a single worry.

Oh, it sounded like heaven.

Ginny couldn't recall ever having had such a complicated situation in her life. Her feelings about Draco were mixed. At times she found herself laughing at everything he said, hopelessly enraptured by his sarcastic wit and – who could deny it – his stunning beauty. Then there were times she felt extremely upset with him, most simply because of the times she _liked_ him. How dare he make her enjoy his company? How did he have the right to amaze and delight her? It wore her out trying to reason through her emotions, trying to figure out what the hell she was doing and if she was doing it right.

To make matters worse, Draco would sometimes disappear for a little while at a time. He was never gone for more than an hour or two, but when she inquired where he'd been, he always had some answer she didn't believe. He would vaguely mention some shop that she'd never heard of or accuse her (albeit jokingly) of being too prying, and who did she think she was, his mother?

And to top it all off, she _still_ hadn't managed to give him a Truth Potion. She couldn't discover what he was hiding.

However, she was sure she would find out soon enough. It was on the top of her To Do List. She still had time.

"So do you think he loves you yet?" Maili asked, tactless as ever.

Ginny smiled. "No, certainly not yet. Love between two normal people takes a while – love between a normal person and Draco probably takes twice as long. I'm hoping it'll only be a month or so before we can go back to England, but I'm prepared to wait even longer, it that's what it takes."

_But I really don't want to_, she thought desperately.

Maili clicked her tongue. "Jesus, Ginny, you've got endurance," she said admirably. "I don't know how you can do it. Are you sure _you_ won't fall in love with him?"

She laughed, thoroughly entertained. "Fall in love with Malfoy?" she repeated disbelievingly, heading over to the bathroom to do a final check. "I would sooner fall in love with Penelope. Honestly, not only is the man evil and sadistic, he's . . . well, that's all he is, and that's all I need to say."

"Just be _careful_, will you?" Maili demanded with a surprising amount of passion. "I'm so impressed by what you've done so far, truly I am, but I can't help but feel afraid for you. I've been thinking about what Penelope said – you remember, the other night, when we went out for drinks – about how suspicious the whole ordeal sounds."

Ginny levitated her trunk and opened the door. "It doesn't sound that suspicious," she said with a shrug. "I'll be careful, don't worry."

She didn't see Maili frown and bite her lower lip as she took her belongings downstairs. She was going to take Muggle transportation to Draco's flat, most simply because it would transport her and her trunk without much fuss.

Ms. Okal, the inn's owner, found her a cab, and while she and the driver struggled to fit Ginny's trunk in the backseat, Ginny said goodbye to Maili on the front steps.

"How long are you going to be in Madrid?" Ginny asked, a little embarrassed about how attached she'd grown to the woman in such a short amount of time.

"I think we're leaving for Barcelona tomorrow," Maili replied, bouncing Kevin on her hip. He chewed on his finger and giggled. "But we'll be back after we tour Spain, won't we, Kevie?"

"Well," Ginny said, "I hope you have a good time."

"Thanks." Maili looked away from her son and smiled gently at Ginny. "Be careful, eh?"

She wondered why she felt like she was losing an old friend. "Yeah, I will. You too. If you're ever in England, stop by Ministry Headquarters in London. I'll be there." She gave Maili a hug that enveloped Kevin in the middle, and she kissed his chubby cheek. "Listen to your mummy, Kevin," she said sternly, but he only laughed at her.

"You're all set, Ms. Weasley!" Ms. Okal called from the street, proudly putting her hands on her hips. Her neat hairstyle was falling from its fastenings and her apron was crooked. Ginny immediately felt guilty for not helping in the task of fitting her trunk into the car.

"Thank you so much, for everything, Ms. Okal," she said sincerely, hurrying down the steps. "I really appreciate it. Once I get back to England I'll send you a bouquet or something."

Ms. Okal laughed. "Okay, I'll let you do that. Pink roses are my favorite, for the record."

Ginny slid into the front seat, waving at the three of them on the top step before she shut the door. They shouted their goodbyes as the cab pulled away, and she watched them in the side mirror until they disappeared around a corner.

She settled in her seat. Now, she had no more distractions. She could fully concentrate on Draco.

She felt strangely relaxed, but could not ignore the twinge of disappointment at the loss of someonewho could have become a close friend.

She enteredDraco's flat without knocking, sending her trunk to the floor with a flick of her wand. "I'm back!" she called, finding the kitchen and living room empty.

She heard running water, and then Draco came out of his bedroom with a toothbrush in his mouth. "That was quick," he said thickly through the paste.

"You know I can't stand to be away from you for too long," she said with a straight face, lifting up one end of her trunk. She followed him back into his room, dragging it behind her.

"Can't blame you," he said. He returned to the bathroom and she heard the water running again.

Heaving her trunk up onto the bed, she began to unpack her clothes. "So what's the schedule for today?" she asked, putting her things away without magic.

She waited while he spit into the sink, loudly. "I hadn't planned anything," he answered.

"Lucky for you that I'm here," she told him. "I was thinking we could see a film. There's a local cinema that's playing an American picture with Spanish subtitles – "

"Too bad I hate Muggles," he said, appearing in the doorway patting his mouth dry.

"And I'd thought you'd changed," she said sweetly. She glanced over at him to see his slightly indignant expression, but to her surprise it wasn't because of the topic of Muggles.

"Did I say you could put your clothes in my wardrobe?" he demanded.

She didn't reply for a moment as she shoved some of his shirts out of the way to make room for her own. "It was implied," she said vaguely.

"How so?"

"When you invited me to stay with you," she answered, looking back at him.

He didn't seem angry, but he did look sulky. It amused her. She paused in her task and sauntered up to him. Smiling coyly, she stuck one of her fingers in his belt loop and pulled him to her. He frowned, but did not try to get away as she snaked her arms around his neck and pressed her nose to his.

It was incredible how easy it was to touch him now. It was as natural as interacting with one of her brothers, except there was more excitement, more lust. And considering how she had blanched at the thought of cuddling with Draco two weeks ago, it was quite an accomplishment.

"Don't worry," she murmured. "My inadequate Weasley belongings won't take up much room at all."

His lips twitched, fighting a smile, and she kissed him lightly. He placed his hands on her hips, attempting to bring her into a full kiss, but she backed away, playing hard-to-get.

"So," she said cheerily, resuming her unpacking, "I'm here now. You have me all to yourself." She threw him another playful smile. "What _are_ you going to do with me?"

The role of the seductress came almost automatically; she didn't have to think about it anymore. Somehow, when she was around Draco, it just _happened_. That wasn't to say she didn't have her moments of stupidity, but on the whole, she thought she was doing quite nicely when it came to the task of capturing Draco's attention.

He seemed to be liking it.

"Well," he said, sighing loudly and throwing the towel on the floor, "I guess I could take you to dinner."

She tried to keep her voice level, but her tone was a little too girlishly squeaky as she repeated, "You guess?" Seductress or no, she was still stunned that he even considered doing something so thoughtful and . . . and romantic. She'd spent the entire week with him and he hadn't mentioned doing anything outside of the flat. It was almost as if he didn't want to be seen with her in public.

What had brought on this pleasant surprise?

"I'm tired of your cooking," he said with an aloof shrug, as though it were no big deal.

She grinned. "That makes two of us." Turning back to the wardrobe, she examined her possessions. "What should I wear? Something fancy?"

She turned to see him advancing on her, and suppressed a giggle as he wrapped his arms around her in an enveloping hug. "Why don't you model your clothes for me and I'll pick what's best," he said, shuffling her towards the bed.

"I like that idea," she agreed, and laughed as he pushed her onto the bed, collapsing on top of her.

She couldn't stop smiling as he began to undress her, and it was because of one thought only.

She had him right where she wanted him.

* * *

"I suppose we should get dressed if we want to make dinner," she said thirty minutes later, her face half-scrunched into a pillow.

He turned his head to look at her. She lay on her side, arms curled around her pillow,her hair tumbling around her face and shoulders. He tried not to smile at how endearing she looked with all that red hair everywhere and her cheeks pink with an after-sex flush.

_Endearing_? He quickly looked away. Since when did he think of words like _endearing_? It wasn't even in his vocabulary. How embarrassing.

"We could order in," he suggested casually.

She lifted herself up on one elbow and peered down at him. "How do you do that?" she asked with an interested smile.

He resisted the urge to touch her. She wasn't modest, he noted,because she didn't bother to pull the sheets over her bare breasts. It was distracting. "Well, first you get a telephone," he began as if speaking to someone very stupid, slipping his eyes away to stare at the ceiling. "And then a phonebook. And then you ring a restaurant, place your order, and have them deliver it to our doorstep."

_Our_. Christ, there went another non-Malfoy vocabulary word. He was pleased to see that Ginny had not noticed his use of plural possessives as her expression remained the same.

"Well, then why don't you get the phone?" she asked him pleasantly.

He forced himself to look above her chest and at her face. "Me?" he said innocently. "You're the one who wants dinner."

Her smile turned to that of disbelief. "I don't know where your telephone is!" she cried, her eyes twinkling to relay her good mood. "And even if I did, I don't know where the book is, or how to use it."

"Then _Accio_ it," he replied simply, closing his eyes as if to go to sleep. "And I'll do the rest."

"My wand's over there," she whined, nodding across the room to her heap of clothes.

He opened his eyes and had to laugh at her pout. "Then get up and get it," he told her. "It's not a hard concept, Weasley."

Her lower lip continued to jut out, but he ignored her. He hated it when she was so _cute_.

_Cute._ Good God. Why did he keep thinking these weak words? He seriously needed some male companionship.

She shifted, but she did not get out of bed. Instead, she swung a pale leg over his waist and straddled him. Startled, he looked up at her face, framed by that mass of wavy, impossibly red hair.

"Let's play a game, shall we?" she said in a husky, seductive voice. Her fingertips trailed lightly over his stomach. "I ask you a question about me." She bent forward and gently kissed where her fingers had just been, her hair brushing his chest. Peeking up at him through its red curtain, she continued with a tiny smile. "You answer correctly, I'll get the phonebook for you. If you don't, then I stay here while you fetch it. Have we got a deal?"

She still managed to surprise him. Damn it, he used to hate surprises. But her seductive act sure as hell was seducing, and though he couldn't admit it to himself, he loved it.

He snagged her wrists, pulling her down flat on top of him so her face was inches from his. "Ask away, Weasley," he said with a confident smirk.

She gave an evil chuckle. "Okay, Malfoy. What's my oldest brother's name?"

"Bill." The answer came to his mind so quickly and precisely that he was blurting it out before he even had a chance to think. There was a beat of silence, in which her eyes widened and he felt his heart jerk inside him.

He knew her oldest brother's name. So what? She talked about her family enough – in fact, she never shut up with stories about them. It was only natural that a perceptive, intelligent man like he should pick up on it.

But the reassurances did nothing to squelch the uneasy feeling that was creeping through him. Somehow, it didn't seem like a good thing that he knew that fact about her. It seemed intimate . . . too intimate.

After only a moment Ginny was smiling again, brushing her lips against his cheek as she brought her mouth to his ear. "Why, Draco," she murmured, her breath giving him chills, "you do care."

No, he didn't care. He _didn't_.

But as Ginny jumped from the bed with a laugh, the air cold against the part of his body she'd just kept warm, he realized with sickening lurch of his stomach that that wasn't entirely true. He wasn't indifferent towards her anymore. In fact, he would even venture so far to say he liked her. He liked her company, her forwardness and her sense of humor. She was completely different from the Ginny Weasley he thought he had known at Hogwarts.

Then another thought occurred to him, one that had him brightening considerably. It was just an act. The real Ginny wasn't a confident temptress. The Ginny he saw was the one who was trying to get her job done. An actress. Not real.

He liked the imposter. But he didn't like Ginny.

He had a satisfied grin on his face when Ginny came back into the room, telephone and phonebook in hand.

* * *

A/N: Yay for pure, unadulterated D/Gness! Hope you all had fun reading this REALLY short chapter, because it was fun to write. I'll probably resume long chapters next time; this was just kind of a filler.

Love you all!


	15. Deeper and Deeper

A/N: Thanks, as always, to Jho, who's awesome!

**Chapter Fifteen**

**_Deeper and Deeper_**

_Monday, 24 March, 2003_

He had to keep her busy. That was his goal.

Draco thought a lot over the weekend, trying to decide his best course of action. He was still upset with Blaise and Pansy, so they were not included in his plans – they had the rest of his bloody family to take over his role. They could do without him for the next few days. The only thing to focus on was Weasley, and keeping her from discovering everything he was up to. And to do that, he would have to be her morning, afternoon, and night. He would have to be her life.

It would be easier to do so since he was no longer focused directly on The Plan. Every so often he would leave Ginny home alone and drop by Pansy's to check on the progress, but other than that, good riddance to them all. They would have to contact _him_ if they needed his help.

He was sure they eventually would.

It was a good thing he'd discovered he liked Ginny's little act. Because he was going to have to put a hell of a lot of time and energy into keeping her company.

First, he had to impress her, and money was always an impressive tool. So that morning as Ginny peered over the sizzling bacon on the stove, wearing nothing but a T-shirt, he came up behind her and slipped a wad of Euros into the elastic of her underwear.

"Buy yourself something decent," he told her as she turned to face him. "I want to go out tonight."

Ginny reached back for the money and counted it with a mixture of shock and delight on her face. After a moment the flicker died; she did have her pride, after all, and she tried to hand it back, albeit unwillingly. "Draco . . . I have my own money. I already told you about my book deal –"

Tempting though it was to let her rattle on about her humorous biography, he pushed the money back towards her. "Don't insult me, Weasley," he drawled. "The sort of clothes I will allow myself to be seen with you in requires more money than your entire family has." For the first time in his existence, he did not get a thrill out of seeing her eyes darken and her mouth tighten defensively. "Just take it," he added in a slightly less mocking tone, "and I don't want to see any change."

She bit her lower lip, and he found himself wishing it was he who was doing the action. "Do you want me to buy something Muggle?"

"Absolutely not," he said, feigning offence.

"Well, when you hand me Muggle money, what do you _expect_ me to think?" she all but snarled.

He gave a short laugh, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Calm down, will you? I'm doing you a favor. Just exchange the money for Galleons – there's a Spanish Diagon Alley about fifteen minutes away from here, Esquina del Encanto. . . ."

He could see she was still pissed off, presumably from his attack on her family's monetary situation, but when she spoke, she sounded like she was forcing herself to be amiable. He knew she couldn't risk becoming angry with him, because she couldn't risk losing him. It was wonderfully entertaining. "Where are we going tonight?"

"It's a surprise," he said mysteriously.

She tried to smother the smile that was tugging at her lips, as if reluctant to forget her annoyance with him. "Well, in _that_ case. . . ." She lightly kissed him and headed out of the kitchen. "I think I'll go get dressed. Watch that bacon, will you?"

_One more step to keep her occupied_, he thought, satisfied. He grinned to himself, pleasantly tending to the breakfast preparations. A few minutes later, she came back, dressed in a disturbingly appealing denim skirt and a simple white top through which he could see her bra. As they sat down and ate, Ginny, her earlier grievance with him forgotten, chatted nonstop about the new designer dress robes that were out on shelves now and how she'd been dying for a new set.

"Do you remember Cho Chang? She was a year ahead of you at Hogwarts, a Ravenclaw . . . she dated Harry for a little while. Just last year she struck gold with a new winter line of robes, and she's been on the rise ever since. One of the most popular designers now. I'm so jealous . . . she gets loads of Galleons for designing pretty clothes. Can you imagine? That's got to be much better than being a biographist . . . but I do wish Harry still kept in contact with her. Then maybe I could get free robes, or try her new fashions before they hit stores and keep whatever I model for her . . . I wonder how much models make? But then, who cares, they get free clothes no matter what. I really hope they have her new spring line out, there's a really beautiful set of purple robes that I saw in her catalogue that I know would look just _great_ on me. . . ."

He listened to her discursive talk with half an ear, concentrating on his food at the same time. It had taken a couple of days, but he'd managed to perfect the art of listening without processing what she said.

When she finally left, he had the day to himself. He briefly considered stopping at Pansy's flat but he was quick to dismiss the idea. He'd just seen them two days ago – if they needed to see him already, they could send word. He wasn't going to put himself through more arguments and frustrations when he had the choice to do otherwise.

So he spent the afternoon reading. Ginny had subscribed to _The Daily Prophet_ since moving in and there were several days' worth on the table in the living room, as well as a couple of her beauty magazines. He was interest solely for the reason that they were wizard reading material, and read each from cover to cover. While the news was always a good read, he was surprised by how entertaining her magazines were. He never knew there was a spell that could give you perfectly arched eyebrows, or that mixing powdered dragon scales into your milk each morning would help you lose up to five pounds a week.

"Rubbish," he mumbled, trying to save his masculinity and dropping the last magazine back onto the table. "The things women will read."

Ginny returned around five in the evening, laden with shopping bags. "Really, Draco, you gave me too much, and you said no change," she said breathlessly before he had even uttered a word. "So I went a little crazy and got a few pairs of new shoes and some day robes to replace my old ones."

He gave her a smirk. "Unless they're see-through, you're paying me back."

She stuck out her tongue and hurried into his room to put everything away.

She spent the next hour "getting ready". When he offered his new knowledge of obtaining perfect eyebrows to help speed the process along, she stuck her head out and worriedly asked what was wrong with her eyebrows. "Are they getting bushy?" she questioned with genuine concern.

Finally, she emerged fully dressed, and he had to admit it was worth the effort. Her hair was tied back halfway with a comb glittering in crystals, the rest falling to her shoulders in waves, and her skin was powdered a pale ivory. Her new dress robes were indeed purple . . . lilac, he relented, if he was allowed to know what that color was . . . and they fit her perfectly, hugging her waist and flaring out to her feet.

"Mmm," he said, nuzzling her neck and breathing in her perfume. "Delicious."

She laughed. "Stop it, you'll mess my hair."

Draco pulled back and grinned at her. For once, he decided, it wouldn't be so bad to be seen in public with this particularly Weasley.

Ginny wasn't sure where all this romanticism was coming from, but it was encouraging. Draco insisted they walk to wherever they were going, because he refused to tell her the destination – which she would need to know if they were to Apparate. He held her hand loosely as they strolled down the street, ignorant of the odd stares Muggles were giving them and their attire. As usual, she was the only one talking, but she was used to it. It didn't diminish the warm feeling she had from the thought of looming success and completion of her mission.

Was it safe to think that she might be going home in a short few weeks? She would have to start pestering Draco about returning to England. Maybe she could convince him just come along and see her home. That was all she needed, really. One day on English soil, and he was as good as locked up.

About fifteen minutes later, they reached a grubby looking pub. Ginny couldn't keep the skepticism out of her voice as he pulled her inside. "If this is your idea of a date, Malfoy, I swear. . . ."

He answered by tightening his grip on her hand. She glanced around the inside of the pub doubtfully, noting the population of even grubbier men – wizards, she realized, seeing their robes and the occasional wand. They were all sitting at old-fashioned wooden tables and didn't look up as the pair of them walked in.

"¡Hola, Señor Malfoy!" said the bartender heartily, startling Ginny. He waved across the room as if trying to flag Draco down. "¿Como está?"

"Estoy bien, gracias, Filipe," Draco replied casually, with an almost regal nod. He continued his trek across the bar, still holding her hand. "¿Se abre el clubo de baile?"

"¡Naturalmente!" the bartender cried with what Ginny thought was too much gusto. It was disturbing to think that even in different countries, people turned into obsequious little bastards in the presence of a Malfoy.

"Bueno," Draco returned, reaching a door towards the back and shoving it open. They were now in a bland hall, tiled in light green and lit with flickering torches.

"What did you say?" Ginny asked, hurrying up alongside Draco.

"You'll see," he promised.

She frowned. "How'd you know about this place? I thought you converted to Muggle when you moved here."

He gave her a mischievous look. "I wasn't entirely honest with you," he admitted. "I didn't drop the wizarding world completely. Occasionally I'd come here."

They turned a corner, and the next hall that stretched before them looked no different. However, at the end was a single door. When Draco stopped in front of it, she deemed it their destination.

A ripple of unease went through her. She couldn't explain it, but she felt apprehensive about going in. What if Draco had somehow discovered she was a Ministry official? What if Blaise and Pansy were waiting on the other side, ready to Stun her – or worse, kill her?

She felt silly reacting in such an extreme way, but she couldn't ignore her fear. Who was she to trust Draco?

He placed a hand on the door handle, pausing a moment to stare at her. After a beat, in which her heart thumped loudly, he said with a mocking bow, "Welcome to Madrid's wizarding nightlife."

The door whooshed open, and a blast of loud music streamed out. A strong pulsating bass throbbed in her head. Obviously, the room had been enchanted with a Silence Charm to shield outside listeners. Draco pulled her in and shut the door behind them.

She knew what it was immediately, and felt extremely silly for her earlier jump to a ridiculous conclusion. It was a dance club. The large space was jammed with wall-to-wall people, dancing on the main floor or standing at the bar, sipping an array of alcoholic beverages. The ceiling was blazing spectacularly with magical heatless fire, casting an orange glow over everything. Up on the stage, a band played. The lead female singer was wailing in Spanish. Unlike Ginny's previous experience with Spanish music, this band did not play salsa – though there were two trumpets that added a salsa-like flare.

As Draco wove her through the crowd by the hand, she couldn't stop herself from staring at everyone. She'd been to dance clubs before, but clearly she'd been to the tamer English sort. She saw a woman wearing a robe made entirely out of white lace, revealing her black undergarments. Another didn't even bother with a bra. But the men, it seemed, wore robes very similar to Draco's.

She felt a brief stab of anger. Why hadn't Draco prepared her properly for this sort of place? While no one appeared to be staring at her or condoning her for her matronly clothing, she still felt immensely self-conscious. She waited until they reached the bar before she rounded on him. "Why didn't you just tell me to come naked, Draco?" she snapped.

His face glowed in the firelight from above. "I beg your pardon?" he asked politely, raising an eyebrow.

"You know what I mean. Look at everyone. Look at her." She gestured wildly to a passerby who seemed to have misplaced the midriff of her robes. The woman paused, stared back, and said something in Spanish that Ginny could neither hear nor understand. "You see?" Ginny demanded as the woman moved on haughtily. "I look like a bloody prude . . . what are you _laughing_ at? What did she say?"

He didn't have the decency to stop laughing. "She said, 'I would be upset if I looked like you, too, _asquerosa_,'" he told her through a broad grin.

She hit his shoulder. Hard. "What's an asquerosa?"

"Arsehole," he said, still grinning, and caught her hand before she could hit him again.

"I don't see what's so funny about that!" Ginny screeched, wrenching her arm free. "She had a point, didn't she! I look awful and overdressed. Why didn't you just tell me where we were going?"

"You look _fantastic_, Weasley," he assured her, leaning in to give her a quick kiss on her cheek. He turned his attention to the bartender, still grinning, as Ginny's anger melted away. His compliment had completely disarmed any insecurity she'd had. A knot loosened in her stomach and she forced herself to relax.

It wasn't so bad. After all, she was an individual. She didn't have to dress like everyone else, did she? Especially when the code of dress was so . . . not her.

He ordered a drink for her, something he called _Encanto__ Negro_ . . . or Black Magic. When it came, she saw the name did not disappoint – it was a pint-filled glass of black liquid.

"How does it taste?" she asked Draco hesitantly, watching him sip his own water. The fact that he hadn't ordered anything alcoholic made her uneasy.

"Like shit," he told her, and had to smile at her stricken expression. "It's a lady's drink, Ginny, you'll like it. Just try it."

"It's a big glass," she mused, stalling for time. Would he be suspicious if she accidentally-on-purpose threw it on the floor?

With an exasperated sigh, he took the glass from her. "Watch, I'll drink it first, just to show you it's _safe_," he said snidely.

She watched him closely as he took a decent sized swallow. He put the pint back on the table, wiped the black mustache off his upper lip, and then gave a shudder. It was the first time she'd seen him drink anything besides water.

"Well?"

"It's good. Your turn."

Well, she supposed one taste wouldn't hurt. And then she could claim she didn't like it. Raising the glass, she sniffed it, found no particularly obtrusive or recognizable scent, and then brought it to her lips. It tasted like gin flavored strongly with cherries. In fact, it wasn't too bad at all, despite the fact she'd never liked hard liquor. She opened her mouth to lie and say she hated it when pleasant warmth rippled through her body, no doubt an after-affect of the drink. The wave reached her head, making her feel dizzy for a moment.

"It's okay," she relented as the warmth and dizziness melted away. "But I don't like how it made me dizzy."

He was staring at her with a gentle expression that made Ginny's stomach flutter. She looked away, pretending to be interested in a water ring on the bar counter. She was perturbed not by the look he'd given her, but by her reaction to it.

"Let's dance," he said smoothly, and she was glad to not think anymore.

She allowed him, once again, to take her hand and lead her onto the floor. She felt a little insecure from the stares other women were giving her, but she was determined to ignore them. None of them, she noticed with relish, had such a hot date as herself.

The music was loud and fast. Draco hooked his arms around her waist and pulled her against him. The front of body her seemed to mold perfectly with him, and, finding a groove easily, they began to move together at their own pace, ignoring the beat completely. Ginny put her arms around the back of his neck and caught his eyes. He grinned at her, an uncharacteristically delighted grin that he'd been displaying often now, and she felt another burst of warmth run through her. But this time it wasn't because of the alcohol.

Disconcerted once more, she lowered her head to his shoulder with a frown. This wasn't the Draco she knew. The Draco she knew insulted, snubbed, upset her. The Draco she knew she could handle. She could make him fall in love with her from an objective point of view. He wasn't supposed to be so damn charming. He wasn't supposed to _look at her like that._

Her insides twisted unpleasantly. _Don't think about it_, her mind commanded. She pressed her body against his tighter, squeezing her eyes shut. _Just do your job. Don't think about yourself and you'll be fine._

Draco gently slid his hand down her back. Her nerves tingled in response.

_Don't think._

* * *

In the next three weeks that followed, Ginny put her work aside. She responded to Creedmoore's letters halfheartedly, only to keep him off her back. She locked all her notes and information deep in her trunk and shoved it under the bed, sealing it away from sight.

_I have to concentrate on Draco, don't I_? she asked herself in attempt to justify her laziness. _That's the primary goal right now – to get Draco back to England_.

She was never out of Draco's sight. This was a good thing for two reasons. She was able to put the Blaise and Pansy threat, as well as whatever little scheme Draco was up to with those blueprints, to rest. He never mentioned his two Slytherin friends, and never seemed eager to escape her company to do mysterious things anymore. More importantly, if Draco wasn't doing anything besides spending time with her, there was no way he could be up to no good. If Blaise and Pansy decided to help a prisoner escape Azkaban – then fine. That wasn't her problem. Draco was. She'd told Creedmoore all about the Greece/blueprint fiasco, and it was up to him to act appropriately.

The second reason was the simple fact that she was enjoying herself. _I'm allowed to have fun_, she thought defiantly. If she was having fun, then Draco had to be, too. It was a huge cycle that kept coming back to the main plan: have him fall in love with her. And then follow her back to England.

* * *

They began doing touristy things that Ginny had envisioned them engaging in from the start. One day, not much later than their first real date at the dance club, they visited the ruins of an old castle on the outskirts of Madrid. It was a Giant's castle, and though there wasn't much left of it, the structures that remained were nearly two hundred feet tall. After a little bit of grumbling, Draco relented and paid the extra money to go onto an old balcony, held upright only by a column of stairs and magic. It was a windy and unusually chilly day, but the view was spectacular. Ginny could see straight to Madrid; the sight of the Muggle buildings glittering in the sunlight astounded her. When she glanced over at Draco, she saw him staring pensively out over the expanse of the grounds, a fisted hand under his chin, and she had to laugh at him.

"What?" he asked her with a smirk.

"Your hair looks ridiculous," she told him. The wind was blowing it every which way, even straight up. It was the first time she had ever seen it less than perfect.

"Oh is it?" he asked pleasantly. "And that's funny?"

She nodded, giggling.

"I see." Without warning, he waved his wand. "_Wingardium__ Leviosa!_"

Her laughter turned to a surprised shriek as the stone balcony vanished from beneath her. She rose a few feet from the stone, suspended in the air. Crossing her arms, she stared down at him and grinned broadly.

"Take it back," he ordered calmly, as though asking to borrow her quill.

"I won't," she said stubbornly.

"Take it back," he repeated, lifting his eyebrows with pseudo-severity. He casually moved the tip of his wand, bringing her closer to the edge of the balcony.

"No," she repeated.

He sighed mockingly. "Well, I see you leave me no choice. I hate to do it, Weasley . . ."

She began drifting towards the edge. And crazily enough, the most shocking part of it wasn't the fact that Draco was threatening to toss her over the edge, a hundred feet to the ground below. It was the fact that she wasn't frightened. Really, she didn't have any reason to. She couldn't hear anything other than playfulness in his voice, and what did he hope to gain by throwing her off a balcony with dozens of tourists around? But above all, the most convincing argument was because she simply trusted him.

A few days ago, she'd been apprehensive about approaching a door to a dance club. Now, she was laughing carelessly as he levitated her towards the edge of a giant's balcony.

A warning sounded somewhere in the back of her head. _You're getting in too deep, Ginny._

Draco let her dangle near the edge of the balcony for a few more minutes, before she finally told him his hair looked _sexy_, as oppose to ridiculous. He lowered her back to the stone and was there to catch her as her feet hit. As had become the trend lately, she pushed every warning from her brain as she held onto him and breathed him in.

It really was a pity he was a criminal. Things would be so much easier if . . .

Well, she didn't let herself think about it.

* * *

On another day, they spent an afternoon at place called _La Vida Antigua_. It was an ancient village about fifty miles from Madrid that had been revived in the spirit of life in medieval wizarding times. At one point, a guide was giving out free lessons to anyone who wanted to learn the outdated spells that the ancient people had used.

Since she did not know Spanish, Ginny made Draco ask if the spells still worked. She flushed with pride when the group glanced back at his question and saw her clinging to his hand. She'd gotten awfully possessive about having him beside her. He drew stares from women of all ages and she could hardly stop herself from beaming happily at the lot of them when he didn't give them a second glance.

When the guide replied that the spells definitely still worked, Ginny was eager to try one out. "Why?" Draco asked sourly. "It's rather pointless."

"Oh, Draco, you're no fun," she chided. "Come on, let's try out that plumbing one. That's the only one I remember."

She dragged him to a hut off the main road where no guides were milling about in their costumes to bother them. She raised her wand and pointed it at a bush beside the hut. However, when she said the words that were to turn the shrub into a pool of water, she somehow mispronounced the spell. A stream of nasty yellow shot out of the tip and cut straight through the shrub like a hot knife through butter. It hit the side of the hut and reverberated off. Draco and Ginny watched, helpless, as the rogue spell shot across the yard and hit an unfortunate man on the road. The man stopped walking, fell to his knees, let out a strange grunt, and promptly turned into a chicken.

Ginny stared a moment, horrified, and then heard Draco snort beside her. Glancing over, she saw him with his hand to his mouth and his shoulders shaking. After a moment she realized he was laughing and, struck by how funny the situation actually was, fought a smile of her own.

"Draco, it's not funny!" she scolded him, biting both lips to keep from laughing. "Stop . . ."

But it was no use. She dissolved into giggles. They both watched, hysterical, as the man strut along the road, squawking loudly and flapping his wings frantically.

Unable to keep standing, they both fell against the hut. Ginny's stomach hurt and tears were leaking from her eyes. She'd never seen Draco laugh so hard and for so long before. Happily, she squeezed his hand.

"Well, Weasley," he said appreciatively, wiping at his eyes, "you have a gift with magic."

She had just gained control of herself and burst out in laughter again. "Do you . . . do you think we should do something?" she got out.

Draco grinned as a couple of children approached the obnoxious chicken. "I hate to say it, but yes. Those kids might take him home for dinner."

It took another few moments, but Ginny finally was able to stop laughing long enough to stand up. She and Draco both attempted to grab the flailing man-turned-chicken, but he would not stand still long enough to be caught. Watching Draco lunge for him and miss, falling cleanly onto the dirt road, sent her into another bout of giggles. Finally, they found their heads and Stunned the chicken, carrying him by the talons to the tourist center.

Draco had trouble telling the tourist man there what happened. He kept breaking up into laughter, much to the guide's annoyance. As they left, Draco translated to Ginny that the guide had thought it was no laughing matter and that if he had his way, he'd have called the Ministry on "us stupid kids."

It was been one of the best days Ginny had had in a long time. It was also the first day since her meeting with Draco that she had not thought once about her job.

It was the beginning of her troubles.

_

* * *

_

_Saturday, 19 April, 2003_

"Are we there yet?"

Draco glanced back at Ginny and grinned coyly. He'd put a black blindfold around her eyes and was leading her by her hand. She took slow, unsure steps, but she had a tiny smile on her lips as she followed behind him.

"I hear water. And it smells like fish. Are we going swimming?"

They were indeed by the water. A port, in fact. It was the fairly large wizarding city of Enseña, on the Atlantic coast. Draco had never been there before, but he knew where he was going. The man who had loaned the yacht to him had given good directions.

"A boat, maybe?" Ginny kept guessing.

"Will you be quiet? This is supposed to be a surprise!"

"I hate surprises, Draco," she whined. "You know I do."

"You do not. You're just too impatient for them. You love them just the same," he accused.

She gave his hand a squeeze in reply.

A few moments later, he came to a stop before a great white boat moored to the dock. He resisted the urge to whistle. The description Mr. Alvarez had given about his million galleon yacht had not done the vessel justice. It was not very large, but it was certainly grand. Dock lamps reflected off the slick white hull and several berth windows were open to spill light into the darkness. It bobbed up and down in the water humbly, rocked by the gentle waves of the port.

Draco led Ginny to the plank, warning her to watch her step. "I knew it!" she cried as she felt the uncertain ground beneath her. "We're going sailing!"

"In the middle of the night, Weasley?" he scoffed. "It's not even windy."

"Can I take my bloody blindfold off then?"

"Not yet." He let go of her hand when they reached the deck, gently pushing her against the cabin wall. "Stay here a moment."

With a wave of his wand, he got rid of the plank. Then he returned to Ginny and guided her along by her elbow, taking her to the bridge. Once there he instructed her to sit down in a chair against the back wall.

"My blindfold?" she asked pleasantly. "I know we're on a ship, Draco, I don't need it anymore."

"Yes, but you don't know where we're going," he told her. "Just a bit longer." He tapped the control panel with his wand and the yacht hummed to life.

"I didn't know you could run a ship," she said with a slightly impressed tone.

"There're a lot of things you don't know," he replied easily, and she lapsed into silence.

Draco had learned how to operate a ship when he had been very young. Each summer his family had holidayed on the coast of Sicily and his father had taught him one July. Those first few summers were the best times he remembered with his dad – something about the sun and the Italians seemed to soften Lucius Malfoy to the point of being a real father.

Draco hadn't gone boating in a long time. It usually made him resentful; all the memories were bitter rather than happy. Why he decided to share such an experience with Ginny, he wasn't sure. All he knew was that he wanted to. And he didn't regret his decision. With her, he didn't feel so bitter.

He'd missed the sensation of it. The feeling of controlling such a huge craft, guiding it seamlessly through the water. The power of it. Coming out here had been a good choice.

Draco glanced back at Ginny and smiled at her, slouched forward with her hands in her lap and knees together, feet apart. Her mouth hung open slightly. He should've found the expression annoying. But he'd discovered he didn't find many things annoying about her anymore.

Except when she bit her fingernails. For some reason that irritated him immensely.

Draco returned his attention to the ocean. They were pulling out of bay now, entering the unusually smooth water of the open sea. There were no lights on the horizon save for a few rogue stars.

He grew contemplative, his mind wandering into deep thought. The past few weeks he had not seen Pansy and Blaise once. And what was more, he didn't care. The thought of them performing The Plan without him almost relieved him. Even though he had put a lot of energy into the beginning stages, he did not mind leaving the rest to the two of them, along with his mother and aunt. They could do it without him. And he knew regardless, they would be doing it soon. The only question would be if they contacted him for his help or not.

His main source of concern, however, was Ginny. She'd been pestering him for over a week now to return to England with her. He wasn't sure what to do with her.

Of course, he wasn't going to accompany her home. That much was clear. But now the time had come to make a decision; leave her or . . . well, apparently there was no other option. Obviously he could not stay with her forever. Just until the release of Azkaban. She wouldn't need to be kept from Blaise and Pansy after that . . . but come to think of it, she really didn't need anymore supervision at the present. If he left her now and she did decide to spy on Blaise and Pansy, she wouldn't find anything out in time to prevent it. He'd done his duty with her.

Yet there were two things holding him back from leaving her. The only thing to do, once he got rid of Weasley, would be to return to his friends. He was not keen on this idea. While he wasn't completely opposed to The Plan, he wasn't too eager to participate any longer. It was just too much work, and if they didn't need him, then what was the point? The second thing was that he'd grown quite fond of his Weasley. He wasn't ready to let her go yet.

The feelings he had for her frightened him, but he didn't like to dwell on them. They were there, and that was that. All that mattered was that when the time came, he could leave her. It wouldn't be pleasant, but he was tough. It could be done. But that time had not come just yet.

"How much longer?" she complained. "My eyes are starting to itch."

Draco sighed and slowed the yacht down. He scanned the ocean and decided the spot was good enough. He used his wand to lower the anchor and told Ginny to stand up, leading her out of the bridge. The boat swayed beneath their feet as they made their way towards the stern.

"All right, this is good enough," he announced. "You can look now."

Ginny ripped the blindfold off eagerly. Her mouth formed a small _O_ of surprise as she caught sight of the coastline several miles away. The Muggle lights shone brilliantly against the backdrop of the black sky, dotted with millions of stars. Draco was a little astonished himself at the view. The lights of the coast seemed to stretch on forever, the yellow contrasting starkly with the darkness of night.

Ginny slipped her hand into his, huddling against him. "It's beautiful, Draco," she murmured.

He drew her into an embrace, the movement so casual he didn't even think about it anymore. He kissed her gently and she drew away smiling.

"Come to England with me," she commanded in a whisper.

Draco's stomach tightened. She sure knew how to ruin a moment. "No," he answered quietly and firmly.

She wove her fingers into his, bringing both his hands between them so they were palm to palm. "I have to leave soon," she said, avoiding his eyes. "I can't live in Spain forever, you know."

"I know."

"Draco . . ." She trailed off. Sighing, she lifted her eyes. "Do you want me to beg?"

He tried to grin, but he knew it came off as a smirk. "In fact, yes," he said roughly, wrapping his arms around her neck. She pushed him away to make eye contact again.

"Seriously, Draco. We need to address this now. Can you focus, please?"

"Why?" He lost his smile. "It's a beautiful night, Ginny. I just want to make love with you right over there, with no distractions or bloody Muggle sounds to interrupt –"

"And then what?" she asked a bit loudly. "And then what? We go to your flat, we waste more time together, we make love every night . . . and then I go home? I go home to England and never see you again?"

To her credit, she was beginning to sound authentically hysterical. He released a breath heavily. "I never promised you forever, Ginny," he told her quietly.

"No, you didn't," she agreed. "But things have changed since we first met. We used to despise the sight of each other . . . we used to fight over everything –"

"We still do. We fought this morning, remember?"

"We fought over what to have for breakfast, Draco! It was silly! We still bicker, yes, but it's over stupid things. We're like . . . we're like an old married couple!"

He wasn't quite sure how to reply to that. So he did not say anything. Undaunted, she went on. "I never intended this to go on forever. But I think we have a chance now, don't you? I know you care about me – look at this." She gestured to the horizon. "Even my most romantic boyfriends wouldn't ever have done this for me, not in a million years. And I'm willing to bet you've never done this for any girl before, either."

"Ginny, I can't just drop my life here and leave," he said, trying another tactic. "Where would I live? What would I –"

"Don't even try that, Draco," she interrupted with furrowed brows. "You have enough money to buy a house in every country of the world. You don't have a job here, and you wouldn't need one in England. It would be very easy to move back."

He looked at her. She looked back. For a moment, all he wanted to do was say yes. For a moment, he allowed himself to visualize a life that was not his; a life where he was not a criminal, running from the British Ministry . . . a life that would let him follow her anywhere. But he was quick to shake the thought from his mind. There was no point in wishing for the impossible.

"Let me think about it," he relented.

Her face relaxed; it was the closest he'd come to saying yes yet. "Do that," she said, and a slow grin crept across her face. "And now, what was this about making love?"

* * *

A/N: So there you have it, G/Dness in all its glory. Whatever will happen next?

The thank yous I've been promising for a while now:

Thank you to **ShadesofMidnight** (don't die! That would not be good), **ToOtHpIcK** (yes, I myself was wondering when I would come back to the fic, but come back I did. You'll just have to see how many plans are ruined because of all the Blaise/Pansy/Draco tension. Thanks!), **SpazzingAzn** (are you really obsessed? That's fantastic! Thank you very much), **Isadora** (hope the next one isn't so long in coming, either! Thank you!), **Faded Memories** (much thanks!), **TrinMalfoy** (as usual, your long reviews make my life. I actually just finished my junior year of high school. I started writing fics in the eighth. Which is sadder; the fact that I was so young when I started, or the fact that I'm still writing today? Anyway, thanks for all your delightful comments!), **Jade Summers** (that's so funny, I just got Confirmed last month! Four days after you, if you got Confirmed the day you reviewed. How crazy is that! Yay for Catholics! Anyway, thanks for the review!), **kittybro** (I updated, I updated!), **Wizzabee** (you may say so indeed, thanks!), **shewhodanceswithsquirrels** (and how did you like all this D/Gness?), **Calla-ForEvEa** (glad to be of service in the D/G spreading department), **fanfictionsissy** (the same thing does seem to be happening, but if it wasn't, I would totally be rushing the "love" thing between them. So it's got to be kind of repetitive for a while), **bean** (yes, I know, glad you really like the story and all, thanks for your helpful review sarcasm is a great thing that is sorely missed in writing), **seekerpeeker** (thank you!), **if-666** (hope this chapter was fun too! I enjoyed writing it anyway), **Brooke Kenobi** (so judging by your second name, you seem like a Star Wars fan. What'd you think of Episode III? I thought it was the best out of the newer three; I enjoyed it much! Anyway, thanks!), **lilblondeiy214** (haha thanks!), **FemmeDraconis** (Blaise and Pansy, hide something? What makes you think so? Ha, you'll just have to wait and see! Thanks!), **Lady-Thetis** (I couldn't make it end unhappily. That would make me mad, too. Thank you!), **singer** (yes, what is going on? Eventually it will become clear! Thanks for your review!), **surely not I** (I haven't had the time, but I would be delighted to sometime!), **LuvablyWicked** (thanks!), **hepsalarkalamia** (entire history of bestness, eh? Awesome, thanks!), **mari** (yes, let's leave them alive just for plot purposes! Then we can kill them. Of course I won't abandon this! Thanks for your review!), **caz-10-5** (I have not read that. I'll have to check it out. Thank you much!), **whatdoihavetodo** (thanks!), **Preppygirl** (I haven't read them either. Thank you!), **MoonlightPrincess** (yes, something is up! You'll find out soon. Thanks for the review!), and **Gizmogirl** (I've updated!).


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